


Do I Know You?

by PieOfEpicness



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abuse of Power, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Blow Jobs, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Bottom Richie Tozier, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Magical Amnesia, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gay Richie Tozier, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Maturin the Turtle is here and he does his best but also he lazy, Medical Trauma, This is not a fix-it, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Top Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24550603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieOfEpicness/pseuds/PieOfEpicness
Summary: Five times Richie and Eddie meet over the years.Five times Richie and Eddie are inexplicably drawn to each other.Six times Richie and Eddie ask each other, "Do I know you?" and one time it's Myra.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Richie Tozier & Myra Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier/OMC
Comments: 99
Kudos: 84
Collections: Richie/Eddie Bigbang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is accompanied by a wonderful piece of art by Sarcasticscribbles! She can be found on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sarcasticscribbles/) and [tumblr](https://sarcasticscribbles.tumblr.com/), so please send her lots of love for creating this lovely piece!

**Prologue**

**August, 1993**

Eddie’s fingers are itching to put on the gardening gloves. They twitch as he looks down on the closed hatch, thinking of all the splinters he could get from the ladder. He can practically hear his mom blabbering on about the risk of infection, but that’s nothing new. He can hear Nirvana playing from below, the party getting started without him.

Finally, he takes a puff from his inhaler to calm his nerves, and then he’s opening up the hatch, the forest floor feeling coarse beneath his thighs.

“I’m sorry, do I _know_ you?” Richie asks, incredulous, watching Eddie descend without his usual layers of protection. Eddie doesn’t even put on the shower cap when Stan holds it out for him.

“That’s what your mom said when I fucked her from behind last night,” Eddie bites back, already checking his hands for phantom splinters.

Richie overdramatises his shock by staggering backwards and clutching at his heart. “Eddie gets off a good one! Oh, how you wound me!” He staggers all the way back until he finds the hammock, putting himself into it without much grace.

The others are already laughing at the display from the two. Bill and Ben pause from putting the beers they brought into the cooler; Bev sits on the recliner, crushing up dried buds of weed; and Mike and Stan sit by the radio, ready to change the station once they start hating the music.

“Nice one, Eddie,” Bev praises with a smirk, now packing some of the crushed leaves into a small pipe.

“You didn’t even call shotgun!” Eddie shouts, making his way over, and, with even less grace, climbs in himself.

Richie desperately tries to keep them steady as Eddie does so. “This hammock isn’t made for two grown men, you fuck ass!” He shouts back.

“You’re the one who fucks ass, Richie!” Eddie holds on to the sides as he dangerously tries to evict Richie from the hammock with his legs.

“Yeah, your mom’s ass!” Richie mirrors Eddie, and then the battle is on, both kicking each other to try and get the other out.

Soon, they both give a yelp as the hammock upends them both, and they start wrestling on the ground instead. The rest of the Losers just look at each other for a moment before bursting back into laughter.

“Should we break them up?” Bev manages.

“As muh-much shit as they ha-have to work out, I don’t thuh-think this is the way t-to do it,” Bill says, and he walks over to grab their attention. “A-alright! O-off each other! Now!”

When that fails, he waves Mike over and they pull Richie and Eddie apart.

“Boys! This is supposed to be a celebration!” Beverly chides them. “We’ve finished high school and we’re all off to college tomorrow!” She walks over, bringing the pipe with her.

She sits down and hands it and a lighter over to Richie, who has a puff before Eddie can even protest.

“No! My mom will smell that on me!” Eddie looks terrified at the sight of it, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Come on, Eddie Spaghetti! You’ve already climbed down that incredibly dangerous ladder without your gloves, and you haven’t even put on the shower cap! What’s one more risk today?” Richie waves the pipe temptingly, and Eddie takes a hesitant sniff of the tea scented smoke. “Come on, Eds. You’re braver than you think.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and he takes hold of it, but he looks unsure of what to do with it.

“Just put it between your lips, like so,” Beverly gently takes the pipe back from Eddie, demonstrating. “Breathe in, slowly, like you’re drinking through a straw,” she lights up the leaves at the end of the pipe, takes a slow breath, takes it away again, still breathing in. Then she breathes out slowly, smoke escaping from her mouth and nostrils.

The other boys shake their heads and look away from the mesmerising display. Eddie, meanwhile, still looks nervous as he copies Bev’s movements. He struggles with the lighter for a moment, before Richie rolls his eyes and yanks the lighter away, lighting it for him. Then he’s breathing in the smoke, and he struggles not to cough for a few moments after he takes the pipe away.

But then he does end up coughing, the smoke irritating his lungs and sending him into a fit. He shoves the pipe in Beverly’s hands.

“I’m dying! I’m dying!” Eddie splutters, grabbing his throat, face scrunched up and tears starting to stream. “Momma was right, marijuana kills!”

The others burst out into laughter again, as Richie bends over to try and help. “You’re gonna be fine, you idiot!” He laughs, but Eddie just rolls onto his back dramatically, still clutching his throat.

“My throat’s closing up! I can’t breathe! I’m going into anaphylactic shock!”

“You can breathe just fine, you drama queen,” Richie laughs, rolling his eyes. He zips open Eddie’s fan pack and fishes out his inhaler. “Here, have some of your inhaler, Eddie-Bear.”

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie says aggressively, then sucks on his inhaler like his life depends on it. “Only Momma does that…,” he says quietly, his breathing evening.

“Oh, Eddie, didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?” Eddie narrows his eyes at Richie, suspicious.

“I asked your Momma to marry me, and she said yes! And as your new father, I can-” Richie doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, as he gets a knee to the groin, and he falls down with a wheeze.

The rest of the Losers looked shocked for a moment, before they burst into laughter. When they manage to get their breath back from all the laughing, and they all come sit in a circle so the pipe can be passed around. They pass around snacks while Eddie lays on his back, calming down. At some point, he takes the opportunity to seize back the hammock.

The afternoon starts to wear on. Guns N’ Roses plays on the radio, and Eddie even starts to feel a little more relaxed from breathing in the smoke still hanging around. With all the grace of a newborn giraffe, he flops out from the hammock onto the dirt floor, and finds himself laughing just as hard as the rest of his friends do.

“You want to try again, Eddie?” Beverly asks. She’s packing the last of the weed into the pipe. “There’s still a few hits left, but it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Eddie doesn’t feel the same amount of panic at the thought he did before. In fact, he feels much more disposed to the idea. He crawls towards the circle, sitting between Bev and Richie, and takes the pipe.

He brings it to his lips, just like before, and takes a deep breath. He fights the urge to cough, and then he breathes out, the smoke coming out of his mouth and nostrils in a small plume. He coughs then, but he doesn’t panic, and doesn’t go for his inhaler. The Losers all give him a round of applause and a few cheers.

Spurred on, Eddie takes another drag, and keeps breathing in until the leaves are nothing but hot ash in the pipe. The room goes silent, bar for Eddie’s coughs.

“You r-really went in th-the deep end, huh?” Bill says, a big grin on his face.

“Whaddya mean, Bill?” Eddie asks with a giggle. “Pass the chips, someone, please!”

Eddie tucks himself back into the hammock, and spends most of the afternoon reading comic books and eating chips from the bag. The other Losers watch for some time at his newfound fascination with the drawings and the sound the chips make in his mouth, which makes him giggle each time.

“Time is weird, huh?” Eddie says to no one in particular. “Like, it feels like I keep realising that I just woke up. You know that feeling?”

“Sure do, Eds!” Richie replies from the recliner. “Time is _very_ weird! I’ve always thought so.”

Cold beers are soon passed around, and Bev manages to pull Bill, Mike and Stan up to start dancing with her to the latest Salt-N-Pepa song. Richie sits in the recliner, idly watching Eddie, when Ben comes over and sits on the arm rest.

“I’ll tell her if you tell him,” Ben says quietly.

“What?” Richie says, startled. He looks up at Ben, who in turn is looking at Beverly. Richie shakes his head. “Fuck no, I ain’t saying shit. I can’t tell him,” Richie says quickly, grabbing a comic book and hiding behind it.

“Why not?” Ben asks, confused.

“Because it’s _wrong_. And _I’m_ wrong. He’s my best friend, I don’t want to hurt him like that,” Richie says, trying to focus on reading whatever it is Storm is saying.

“Richie…” Ben says slowly, “If what you feel for Eddie is anything like what I feel for Beverly, and I know that it is, then I don’t see how it could be wrong.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Of course, you think like that, Ben, you big hunk of love. But not everyone thinks like that. I’ve never heard anyone say it’s okay.”

“Well, they should. And _I’m_ saying it’s okay. I know I’m just one guy saying that, but I know there just can’t be only you out there. I mean, isn’t that the point of X-Men? Knowing you’re not alone, that there’s a community out there, that it’s okay to be exactly who you are and celebrating our differences?”

“I have not thought that deeply about X-Men,” Richie mumbles. He has, though, a bit. And he’s thought _a lot_ about Sunspot. And Rictor.

“We’re gonna be so far apart come college, it’s gonna be Christmas before we see each other next,” Ben says. “I don’t want to leave with any regrets.”

“Maybe that’s why we shouldn’t say anything, though,” Richie sighs. He hears another giggle come from Eddie, and he gulps. “I’d rather leave knowing we’re still best friends, than leave knowing that he hates me.”

“I don’t think he could ever hate you, Richie.”

_Damnit_ , Ben sounds so sincere that it just about melts through Richie’s tough exterior. He can’t help but to be honest, now. “I don’t know, I sure hate me.”

Before Richie knows it, Ben has engulfed him in his arms and is practically squeezing the life out of him. “Please don’t ever say that again, Rich,” he hears Ben whisper. He sounds genuinely scared. “I know you can’t think it right now, but I promise that there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Thanks, Ben,” Richie wheezes, but he gives into the hug and returns it. It’s nice, and a little too warm, but he doesn’t let go for a while. Ben doesn’t try to let go until Richie is ready, which he appreciates. Richie looks over Ben’s arm, and sees Eddie amazed by whatever is on the comic page. He feels the muscles on the sides of his mouth twitch at a smile, but he stops himself. “I’ll, um, consider it. Y’know.”

“Yeah, same. Want another beer?”

“Yeah, pass one over.”

Richie finally let’s go of Ben, and Ben goes to the cooler, grabbing a beer out and cracking it open before handing it to Richie.

“I love you, Tozier.”

“Thanks, Hanscom,” Richie rolls his eyes. “I love you, too.”

Richie watches as Ben opens up another beer, and goes to offer it to Beverly, who’s taken a break from dancing. Bill and Mike are now singing along to _Whoot! There It Is_ , with Stan doing that crazy butt dance like the girls in the video on MTV, which he seems to be really good at, and makes the whole scene incredibly baffling to watch. Stan definitely earns the ‘ _whoot!_ 's he gets from everyone.

Eddie goes back to eating his chips, but isn’t giggling at each crunch any more. Richie can’t help but think about what Ben said, but he knows he doesn’t want to say anything while they’re all still drunk and high. He makes his way over to the hammock, and starts climbing into it, much to Eddie’s chagrin.

“Hey! You’re the one who said that the hammock wasn’t made for two grown men! Wait your fucking turn!” Eddie desperately holds onto the sides as it dangerously swings back and forth.

“So, it’s a bit cosy. We’ll be fine,” Richie shrugs him off. He crosses his socked feet right beside Eddie’s unamused face, and tucks an arm behind his head. “Pass the chips.”

Eddie upends the bag and tips the rest into his mouth. “Come and get ‘em, fuck face!” He makes a deliberate show of chewing them slowly, his mouth wide open between every chew.

“Fuck you! The only face I’d fuck is your mom’s!”

Whatever pretend fight they were going to have is halted when Ben throws a bag of pretzels into the hammock.

***~.~***

When it starts getting dark within the bunker, the Losers decide it’s time to start heading home. The weed and beer have mostly worn off, and they’ve all got family dinners to get home to.

Ben keeps Richie behind for a moment when the others have all climbed out.

“Richie, hey, let’s do it! I’m gonna be walking Bev home, you can walk Eddie home. If we dare each other, we can definitely be brave enough to do it!” Ben looks excited by the whole thing, but Richie feels the exact opposite. He’s totally ready to chicken this out.

“I’m not making a fucking suicide pact with you!” Richie hisses.

“It’s not a suicide pact,” Ben says pleadingly, his hands on Richie’s shoulders. “It’s you and me putting a little more love into the world. _We can do this!_ ”

“That’s not what this feels like for me,” Richie says, eyebrows furrowed.

“Okay, I do realise that we’ve got two waaaay different experiences here, but I also may have it on good authority that whatever you say to Eddie may not go entirely unreciprocated,” Ben’s voice gets higher with each word, which normally would have made Richie laugh.

But all Richie can think about right now is how all he can hear is the blood pumping in his ears and all he can think about is the possibility that maybe, just fucking maybe-

“ _What the actual fuck, Ben?!_ What’s he said to you?” He wants to shake Ben by the shoulders, but he can’t get out of Ben’s grip. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest due to the million beats per minute peak it has achieved.

“I’m not saying anything more,” Ben says, a genuine smile on his face and a little laughter in his voice. “But I would trust Bev’s word on this.”

Richie starts pacing back and forth with nerves, he runs his hand through his hair, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Crap! How does my breath smell?” He lets out a breath close to Ben’s face, who does not appreciate the gesture.

“Smells like all the beer and weed we had,” he says, trying to clear the smell from his nose.

“Eddie’s gonna hate that! Okay, um, I got some breath mints here,” he digs out a tin from his pants pocket. “You take some, too, Ben,” he holds up Ben’s hand and tips some into it.

“Thanks,” Ben replies, and they both quickly crunch on the mints, wincing at the sudden cold within their mouths.

“Let’s do this!” Richie says excitedly, jogging on the spot.

“I believe in you, Richie!”

“I believe in you, too, Ben!”

They crash into each other for a quick hug, before rushing up the ladder and catching up with the others. Ben sneaks into Beverly’s side on one end of the line, while Richie does the same with Eddie on the other side. As they walk through the forest, they laugh and reminisce on their last few years at high school.

When they eventually reach the tree line between civilization and nature, Beverly stops them before they cross.

“I’m… I’m really going to miss you guys. My boys. We’re all going to be so far apart tomorrow. I don’t know how I’m going to deal,” she says to them, tears just below the surface.

“We’re all gonna write and call,” Ben promises, swooping her into a hug to reassure her.

“That’s not the same as seeing you all every day, though.” The boys begin to crowd around in a hug before she really starts crying. Ben holds her in the centre, hugging the tightest. “I love you all so much,” she says, just loud enough for them to hear.

The boys repeat the sentiment back, and they hold to each other for as long as possible. All they can hear for a while are distant cars, birds, and their breathing, but eventually, though, they break apart. Ben gives Beverly a handkerchief to wipe her tears.

“I’ll walk you home, Bev,” Ben says, offering his arm. Beverly smiles up at him, sliding her hand through.

“Yeah, w-we’ll make sure you get home safe, B-Bev,” Bill says, Mike and Stan nodding their heads in agreement.

Richie can see the look of panic on Ben’s face at this development. “I’m sure Beverly only needs one escort home,” he says, trying to save Ben’s part of the plan.

“W-we’re going that way anyw-way, it’s no big deal,” Bill shrugs it off. “W-we’ll see each other tom-morrow for breakfast, right gang?”

“I, uh, I’ll be on a bus pretty early,” Beverly says sadly. “Alright, I want some quick hugs with you, Richie and Eddie!”

She grabs on to Richie quickly, and gives him a peck on the cheek while he hugs back. She hugs Eddie, kissing his cheek too, and then whispers something in his ear that he can only blush and nod at. She boops his nose with her finger before she starts walking away with the others.

“I love you guys!” She says again, blowing them kisses.

“I love you too, Bev,” Richie says, waving.

“Love you!” Eddie shouts, his face still red from whatever she said to him.

Richie and Eddie start heading off in the opposite direction. They walk together pretty close, their sides knocking together every few steps.

“You’re not going with them? Your house is closer to theirs than mine,” Eddie says.

“Eh,” Richie says with a shrug. He looks over his shoulder, and shares an apologetic look with Ben, who gives an arm gesture that clearly means: _you can still do this!_ “I feel like taking a longer walk.”

“Alright,” Eddie says with a smile, and they head off towards his house.

They get to the end of the street, turning the corner, and suddenly Richie feels like he’s all alone in this endeavour without Ben. But he knows he wants to now, quite desperately, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Hey, uh, why don’t we cut through the park up ahead?” Richie suggests. It’s not really a short cut, but at least there’ll be a few spots that can afford them some privacy, if all goes well.

“Sure,” Eddie replies with a smile, his breath noticeably quicker now, but he doesn’t reach for his inhaler. Richie hopes that’s a good sign.

They walk along a dirt track through the park, which is soon enclosed by bushes and trees, tall enough to cover them both. Richie stops, and holds his arm out to stop Eddie as well. They turn to look at each other, and he feels like he’s nearly hyperventilating from the fear, but he wants to do this.

“Uh, Eddie?” He asks, his voice notably shaky.

“Yeah?” Eddie seems just as nervous.

“Can I- can I tell you something?”

Eddie looks up at him. “Yeah, of course.”

“Please don’t hate me,” Richie says quietly, licking his lips nervously. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of the cliff at the quarry, ready to jump into the water below.

“I could never,” Eddie replies, just as quietly. His eyes are dating all over Richie’s face, not sure where to stop.

Richie sucks in a deep breath. _Here goes nothing_.

“I… I like you,” Richie whispers, just loud enough for Eddie to hear. He can just about hear the wind whistling through his ears.

“I think it'd be hard to be friends if you didn’t like me,” Eddie says. It’s a nervous deflection, Richie can tell by the way Eddie is blushing. He knows exactly what Richie means, but he needs the clarification to be sure.

“No, I mean I… _like_ like you.” Richie feels like he’s about to faint, but it’s out there. He waits for Eddie to say something.

“I…,” Eddie can’t manage much more, doesn’t seem able to get anything out just yet. He’s blinking rapidly, eyes still darting all over the place.

Richie can hear his heart pumping in his ears, can feel every beat in his chest, and he wonders for a moment if Eddie can hear it, too. Fear and adrenaline are flooding through his system, and he thinks if maybe he should just leave before Eddie takes a deep breath, looking like he’s just about to jump off the cliff as well.

“I like you, too, Richie. _Like_ like,” he says, the biggest smile he ever had appeared beautifully across his face.

Richie could just about cry, and his cheeks are hurting from mirroring the smile on Eddie’s face. They’re falling head first into the water together, and it’s scary and exciting at the same time. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie says, his eyes now firmly looking into Richie’s.

“Can I kiss you?” Richie asks. It takes everything within him to not just grab Eddie’s head and do so, but he wants to make sure that they’re on the same page, that Eddie wants it, too.

“Um, I-I don’t know, Rich,” he says, the smile falling. “I mean, I’m fucking terrified. By the fact that I’ve been _feeling_ this, for my best friend, by the fact that you’re a boy, and I’m a boy. Like, this isn’t what boys are supposed to do with each other.”

“I’m scared, too. I’m terrified every fucking day that the wrong person will find out. But I don’t think we’re alone in this, Eds. I’ve read stuff. There was that Milk guy, in San Francisco-”

“He was _murdered_ , Rich,” and Eddie looks even more afraid. He starts pacing, hands in his hair like he wants to rip it out. “There are _so many_ people out there who think this so wrong that they’ll kill people who they just suspect… Momma said she would disown me if I ever turned out to be a fag. And AIDS, Richie! That terrifies the shit out of me, that people die from being like this!”

Richie wants to hug him, but he feels like that would be the wrong move at the moment. Instead, he tentatively reaches out for Eddie’s hand, and when Eddie doesn’t pull it away, Richie interlocks their fingers. He feels his hand clamp down tightly, the muscles stiffening as if possessed by an electric current, and he can’t let go. 

Richie feels an intense, itchy feeling inside his head for a few seconds, seeing Eddie wince at the tight grip, but then he’s returning it just as tightly. The itchy feeling lets up, and then they stand in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other.

“We don’t have to do anything, Eds. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But I do, though! I really fucking want to.”

Eddie let’s go, and goes back to pacing, but Richie reaches out again, and stopping him, holding his hands tightly.

“Just… think of the X-Men, okay?”

“X-Men?” Eddie looks confused by where this is going.

“Yeah. Whenever there’s a new one, they go through this whole thing of thinking that they’re alone, and that there’s something wrong with them, but then they discover that they aren’t. They discover that there’s so many people like them, that they’re not alone, and that it’s okay to be who they are.”

“You really thought that much about X-Men, huh? You’re such a fucking dork.”

“No, I didn’t. Ben did. I mostly thought about Sunspot. And Rictor.”

“Of course you did,” Eddie huffed, but the smile is slowly returning to his face. “What’s Ben’s point?”

“I’m not sure how willing I am yet to believe it yet, but I want to. Ben’s point _is_ , is that maybe we’re not alone in this. And maybe, just maybe, we’re okay, being like this. People hate the X-Men because they don’t understand, and then they fear them, and then that fear turns into hate. I think, maybe, that’s what it’s like, with people like us.”

Eddie looks a bit calmer now. He looks up and down the path, and Richie quickly does the same. Absolutely no one in sight. Eddie puts his hands on Richie’s cheeks, thumbs running over the bones.

“Can I kiss you?” Eddie asks this time.

Richie nods, and then they surge towards each other, their lips smashing together in a very inexperienced kiss. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, while Richie wraps his arms around Eddie’s middle. They break apart for air and kiss a few more times, but soon, the light is too dim for either of them to see much. Richie rests his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Momma will be worried,” Eddie whispers.

“Isn’t she always?”

“Yeah. But I’m worried, too. How the fuck are we going to make this work? I’ll be in New York, you in California. Aren’t we too young for this?” Eddie teases some of Richie’s hair between his fingers.

“We’ll write to each other every week. And once we get phone lines set up, we can call each other, too. We can do this, Eds. I wanna try!”

“I want to try, too,” Eddie says with a sigh. “I’m just-”

“Doing what you always do,” Richie says. “You’re being yourself. I don’t expect you to do anything less, even about this.”

Eddie smiles up at him, and they share another quick kiss. Richie kisses his forehead before they start walking again, holding hands. As dark as it is, Richie finds himself constantly checking that no one’s around, and he notices Eddie does, too.

“So, Rictor and Sunspot, huh?” Eddie smirks. “I’m sensing a pattern, here.”

“What’s the pattern?” Richie asks, confused.

Eddie just gives him a smug look, but doesn’t say anything about it. “I’m more into Nightcrawler. And Jean Gray.”

“Of course you are.”

Richie walks with Eddie all the way to his front gate, and despite every single part of his being wanting to kiss him again, he settles for a tight hug. He feels Eddie kiss his check, which Richie desperately wants to reciprocate, but he doesn’t.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast, yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Of course. At the crack of dawn. Ten AM.” They smile and look longingly at each other, hands still entwined. There’s a final squeeze and then they both let go. “Goodnight, Eds.”

“Goodnight, Richie.”

“Say hi to your mom for me. I’m real sad that the engagement is off,” Richie smirks.

“Go home, Richie,” Eddie smiles, and he heads inside, giving Richie a wave at the door.

Richie walks home feeling like he’s on Cloud Nine.

***~.~***

Ben and Richie are the first ones to arrive at the diner. They find a booth in the back, where there’s not many people. Richie was feeling happy all night, even struggled to get to sleep, so he’s looking forward to some coffee. He looks at Ben’s face, however, and he immediately feels his friend’s sadness.

“What happened?” Richie asked.

Ben doesn’t answer just yet, just thanks the waitress as she pours them some coffee, and then he holds the warm mug between his hands. “I didn’t get to tell her last night. I was waiting for the others to leave, but everyone just kept talking, and then her aunt called her inside. I tried to go see her before she got on the bus, but I was too late. I couldn’t get there fast enough.”

Ben looks very frustrated with himself, and he starts fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. Richie leans across the table and rubs his hand along Ben’s forearm.

“I’m sorry, man. Winter break isn’t far, we’ll all catch up, and you can tell her then.”

“Yeah. I guess I’m just disappointed with myself. Um, please, tell me what happened with you and Eddie,” Ben asks, taking a sip of coffee. “You looked really happy before I bummed you out.”

Richie can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face as he remembers. “I told him, and then he told me, and then we both panicked for a minute, but then we kissed.”

Ben smiles warmly at the news. “That’s great, man! I’m really happy for you!”

“Thanks,” Richie says.

They hear the bell from the door ring, and they spot Bill, Eddie, Mike and Stan enter the café, and they wave to get their attention.

Richie feels like the world almost goes into slow motion as Eddie approaches. The grins on their faces become almost unbearable as the group nears, and Eddie slides into the booth next to him, and suddenly all Richie can see, hear, and smell is all bundled up into this incredible person in the booth beside him.

Eddie links their hands underneath the table, and Richie feels like his heart is about to explode.

“Oh, finally!” Bill exclaims, shattering the illusion.

“Oh, my god, I thought it was torture watching you guys before,” Stan says, his head hitting the table after he slides into the booth beside Ben.

“You know what is actual torture, Stan? Watching you do that dance to _Whoot! There It Is_!” Richie bites back.

“I practiced long and hard to get that right!”

“Yeah, I bet you did.”

“I’m really happy for you two,” Mike says to Eddie as he sits down beside him.

Ben looks around the room quickly, then looks back. “No one’s looking, if you guys wanna… do whatever.”

Thank god for the high backing of the booths, because Richie surrounds Eddie with his arms and starts peppering kisses all over his face; Eddie puts on a show, making it seem like he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t shove Richie away, and even angles his head to make it easier. Richie wouldn’t say it to anyone, even Eddie, but he really does want to do all the lovey-dovey stuff, including kissing Eddie all over his cute face.

“Kill me now,” Stan groans. When Bill starts making kissing noises and leaning in closer towards him, Stan shoves him out of the booth, and Bill lands on the floor with a laugh. “Ugh, _as if_ , Bill.”

“Waitress,” Ben says low, and Richie puts his arms back to his sides.

Eddie’s still smiling as he wipes the slobber from his cheeks.

Their last meal together was bittersweet. They eat, and laugh, and very nearly cry at the thought of their next chance of everyone seeing each other again being winter break. Richie and Eddie keep their hands together and fingers entwined underneath the table the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

**April, 1997**

Eddie doesn’t _do_ parties. Eddie doesn’t do _bars_ or _clubs_ now that he’s old enough to get in. And Eddie especially doesn’t do _frat parties_. He avoided the fraternities from the moment he stepped onto the college campus.

Eddie likes to stay where he can’t get sick, and he stays where he’s _safe_. And this? Whatever this fresh hell is that he’s been dragged to? _This is not safe_. He just wants to go back to his dorm, and he wants to study. That’s what he’s here for, after all, and that’s all he wants to keep doing until he gets his Bachelor’s.

But Arthur is a fucking asshole who no longer respects his boundaries and insisted on dragging him out for the night to a fucking frat party. Eddie doesn’t care for the situation at all, especially since Arthur abandoned him as soon as they entered the door.

Nothing is sanitary, there’s probably drugs happening somewhere, bodily fluids _everywhere_. 

This is a goddamn nightmare.

Eddie finally spots his friend, Arthur, on the other side of the room, talking to some girl, and he stalks over as best he can, doing his best to not bump into people along the way.

“I fucking hate this!” Eddie hisses, grabbing Arthur’s attention. “I fucking hate _you_.”

Both Arthur and the girl give him a weird look. “Hey, baby, just gonna deal with my roommate for a moment, okay? I’ll get you a drink.”

Arthur puts his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, and guides him towards the table with the drinks, and one giant bowl that Eddie is sure is actually just a small paddling pool.

“You need to loosen up, Eddie,” Arthur says, filling up a red cup from the bowl.

“What the fuck even is this?” Eddie says, looking down into the cup with disdain.

“Jungle juice, you’ll love it!” Arthur fills his own cup, and takes a hearty swig from it, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Come on, Eddie, baby! This is a college party, and it’s for having fun!”

“This isn’t fun for me. Is there alcohol in this?”

“Of course, there is, and plenty of it!” Arthur downs the rest of his drink, and pours himself another. “It’s like, ninety percent alcohol? There’s mixers and stuff in there, too, but who gives a shit. Come on, you’re already behind.” He makes a motion to try and get Eddie to drink, but Eddie just glares at him, and shoves the red cup back.

“I don’t want it,” Eddie says.

“Ugh, fine, loser, I’m sure there’s soda around here somewhere, or whatever,” Arthur sees and points at a nearby table. Eddie sees it’s filled with plenty of cans, cups, and bowls of food. “Loosen the fuck up! You haven’t been to one fucking college party the entire time we’ve been roommates. Find someone to talk to that isn’t me! Maybe Daniel? That guy is crushing on you _hard_. Now, I’m gonna go back to Sarah. Wish me luck.” He downs Eddie’s drink and goes to refill them before Eddie can say anything.

Eddie scowls at Arthur’s ponytail, then slowly makes his way through the throng of people to the table, already liking the idea of hugging the wall for the entire duration of his stay at the party. He reaches the table as a tall guy with black, curly hair and incredibly tacky Hawaiian print shirt walks away. 

He manages to grab one of the last cans of diet Coke, and doesn’t even begin to think about touching the communal bowls of chips. He snags a bag of unopened Doritos and attempts to find a secluded corner to people watch from.

He walks around the edge of the room, trying his hardest not to bump into anyone, when he spots some familiar hair and a familiar tacky shirt sitting right next to a free spot on the comfy looking sofa.

Eddie hurries over, and quickly claims the area with his butt. “God, I hate parties,” he says to himself, opening the bag of Doritos.

“Hey, can I have some?” Tacky Shirt Guy asks.

Eddie turns to look at him, and he immediately wants to sink into the cushions because _damn_ , Tacky Shirt Guy is fucking _hot_. His eyes are a dazzling mess of either blue or brown, Eddie can’t tell due to the dim lighting; a square jaw that Eddie wouldn’t mind holding; gorgeous curly hair that Eddie can practically feel between his fingers already, and then his deliciously broad shoulders and chest are covered by…

A _Space Jam_ t-shirt?

It’s really confusing Eddie just how familiar this guy seems to be.

“Déjà vu?” Eddie mumbles.

“What?” Tacky Shirt Guy says, leaning in to hear.

Eddie just about starts panting, and he shakes his head, trying to clear it. “Uh, do I know you? Are you a student here?”

Tacky Shirt Guy seems to be scanning him, his eyes moving up and down Eddie – _no, checking him out_! Eddie can feel himself blushing, and thanks whoever it was that made the lighting so dim.

“No, but you’re about to,” he says with a lame wink, “I’m the angel about to take you to heaven.”

“What?” Eddie squeaks, leaning away.

“Yeah, that did sound a little murder-y, didn’t it? Sorry. No, not a student here, don’t tell anyone,” Tacky Shirt Guy says the last part in a whisper, which makes Eddie laugh a bit, and he straightens himself back up. “I’m here with a friend, visiting another friend. I live in California.”

“Who are your friends? Maybe I know them.”

“Shannon and Leroy. They were just here, but I think I got abandoned for a room,” he says, looking around.

“I don’t think I know them.” Eddie thinks he’s forgetting something, then realises: “Sorry! I’m Eddie! Eddie Kaspbrak,” he says, and he really wants to hold his hand out to shake, but he has no idea where Tacky Shirt Guy has had his hands recently.

“I’m Richie. Tozier,” Richie says, holding his hand out.

Eddie stares at it a moment. “Uh, give me a sec,” he says, and Richie watches as Eddie unzips his fanny pack and shoves his hand in. He searches and then finds a pack of hand sanitising wipes. Eddie holds it out to Richie, who just looks at him confused.

“My hands are clean.”

“But are they really? The majority of people don’t know how to actually wash their hands properly, leading to illness and infection just all over the place.” Eddie insists with the wipe, and Richie takes it, his eyebrow raises.

“Germaphobe, huh?” Richie asks, but he starts wiping his hands down anyway.

“I get sick easily. I’d rather not take the chance.” When Eddie is satisfied that Richie’s hands are sufficiently clean, he holds out his hand, and Richie takes it.

It’s like a bear trap closing around a leg. Richie’s hand clamps down hard around his, hurting Eddie’s own. In a moment of panic, he tries, vainly, to pull his hand away, but he just succeeds in lurching a dazed and confused looking Richie towards him.

“Come on, man, let go!” Eddie says, loudly, and Richie blinks a few times.

Slowly, they let go of each other’s hands. Eddie is suddenly aware of just how small the sofa is, and how close they’re seated, the tips of their knees touching, the sides of their chests.

“Uh…” Eddie starts, not sure what just happened.

“About those Doritos?” Richie manages, looking like talking is a lot harder than it should be, swallowing hard.

“Oh, sure,” Eddie puts the bag between them, and they take it in turns to get a few chips out.

“I take it you’re a student here, then?” Richie asks, leaning to the coffee table in front of them and grabbing a cup.

“Yeah, I’m doing a Bachelor of Finance,” Eddie tells him, cracking open his can of soda.

“Yeah? That’s cool. You figure out what you want to be when you grow up?”

“I’m twenty-one,” Eddie says, as if that answers Richie’s question.

“So, you’ve grown up. What do you want to be?”

“I, uh, I’m not sure. I’ve got an internship lined up over the summer with an insurance company to do risk analysing,” Eddie says. “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I don’t know,” Richie said with a shrug. “I’ve kind of just been taking all the Humanities subjects without really thinking of what I’ve wanted to do. I love making people laugh. I did a comedy workshop recently, and took an acting class. I’d like to make more than just ‘your mom’ jokes.”

“But ‘your mom’ jokes are clearly the peak of comedy,” Eddie said in jest.

“I gave your mom a peak last night!” Richie holds his hand up for a high five.

“I gave you that one,” Eddie said with an eye roll, but smiling. He gives Richie the high five anyway.

“I know you did! And I’m giving you this one!”

“Is what I said to your mom last night!” 

They’re both laughing now, and it feels good. Eddie realises he hasn’t laughed like this in a while. It’s been a stressful semester.

Eddie feels a tug on his shirt sleeve, and then his whole body is being lifted up from its comfortable position on the seat to the arm rest. He looks over his shoulder and sees Arthur.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” He shouts at him. He can hear Richie laughing, and then he sees his attention being diverted away by two people he assumes to be the friends he talked about. Eddie doesn’t get to think about it much when Arthur physically pulls his face towards him by his chin.

“Hey, so, I’m gonna go with Sarah to her dorm,” Arthur informs him.

“Okay? So?”

“So, I’m suggesting you find someone to take home as well. Put a sock on the door, ya know? That guy seems pretty into you,” Arthur says, indicating towards Richie.

Eddie blushes furiously. “I barely know him!”

“That doesn’t matter. I was watching you guys on the way over, you’re into him, too, I can tell. So, go suck his dick! Have him suck yours! Hell, suck each other’s dicks at the same time! I don’t know what you guys do, but I know there’s a world of possibilities. Have some fun! Blow off some steam. God knows you need to.” Arthur raises his eyebrows at Eddie suggestively.

“No!”

“Fine, I hate to do this,” and before Eddie can say anything, Arthur shoves him back down on the couch, and skips behind it, full cup of jungle juice at the ready. “WHOOPS!”

The liquid comes splashing down on both Eddie and Richie.

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ , ARTHUR!” Eddie shouts over the music. Richie pulls off his glasses and looks despondently down onto his shirt. Eddie is fuming, his face now red from anger and Kool-Aid rather than embarrassment.

“Oh, my gosh! I am so sorry, sir! I tripped! I am _very_ embarrassed! Say, Eddie, why don’t you take this handsome young gentleman back to our dorm to clean him up? We’ve got a washer and dryer you can use, Eddie always loves putting in a big load-”

Eddie doesn’t give him a chance to finish by slapping him away, and Arthur just laughs and waves some finger guns, giving him a wink before walking off. Eddie gives Richie an awkward, apologetic smile. Richie’s two friends are behind him, laughing their asses off.

“Sorry about that! Arthur isn’t normally that much of an asshole.”

“It’s fine,” Richie says. He pulls the wet shirt away from his chest, and oh boy, does that send a tingle somewhere.

Richie gestures to the two people beside him as one gives him a napkin. One is a young woman with red hair, while the other is a young man with dark skin and cropped hair. The two of them almost reminded Eddie of a few people. “These are Shannon and Leroy, I guess.”

“Hi!” The girl says with a wave. “I’m Shannon.”

“And I think I’m Leroy,” Leroy says. Both are still laughing from what just happened.

“Nice to meet you guys. Uh, we do have a washer and dryer back at our place, we should get you clean- your shirt! Clean your shirt! Don’t want it to stain! Kool-Aid is a bitch to get out. Our place isn’t far from here,” Eddie offers.

Richie smiles at him. “Sure. Hey guys, just gonna go home with this random guy I met ten minutes ago.” They’re still snickering. “Might get murdered, might get my shirt washed! Who knows?” He shrugged.

“You were the one threatening to take me to heaven ten minutes ago!” Eddie can’t help but laugh.

“Ugh, you went with that stupid pick-up line?” Leroy groaned.

“I think it worked, though,” Shannon says, watching Richie and Eddie stand up.

“Guess it did,” Eddie says, blushing again and grimacing as he realises what he says.

He starts walking away quickly through the mass of people, and he hears Shannon and Leroy wolf whistle behind him. When he turns around to make sure Richie is following, Leroy is bent over the couch while Shannon pretends to thrust into him. Richie is flipping them both off, before turning back around to follow Eddie.

“Sorry about those guys,” Richie says once they make it outside. “I’ve been single the entire time I’ve known them, and they’re easily excitable. Hey, uh, I kinda can’t see more than two feet beyond my face, since my glasses are wet.”

Eddie holds out his hand for Richie to grab on to, leading him down the pathway.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “Same with me, I’ve, uh, been on a few dates, but they never really go anywhere.”

“Same,” Richie sighs, walking alongside Eddie. “I’m not expecting anything, by the way.”

“Good,” Eddie says, a smirk on his face as he feels himself becoming braver by the second, “because as cute as you are, I’m not that easy. You gotta take me out to dinner, first.”

Richie slows down a bit. “Doritos don’t count as dinner?”

Eddie looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “Definitely not. Come on, we need to get that in while it’s still wet. The shirt, I mean. God, I fucking hope I don’t get tinnitus from how loud that music was.”

Eddie starts pulling him along, Richie hurrying the fuck up.

***~.~***

Eddie’s mouth goes dry as he watches Richie pull his wet shirt off, inadvertently licking his lips at the sight. His damp curls bounce as soon as he pulls his head through, and Eddie has to look away before he does something embarrassing at the sight of Richie’s naked chest.

“Some got on my jeans,” Richie says.

“Alright, we’ll just put everything in,” Eddie says.

“Everything, huh?”

“ _Beep beep, Richie_.” The words are out of his mouth before he could stop them. Eddie doesn’t even know what they mean, and Richie looks like he doesn’t understand either, but it shuts him up. “Uh, yeah, everything that got the jungle juice on it, throw it in.”

Eddie’s face has been red for quite a while now, and there’s a vague thought going through his head, wondering if that’s bad. But then Richie starts unbuttoning his jeans, and that thought is quickly chased out. Eddie pulls his shirt off, and then his own jeans, and it all gets thrown into the washing machine with some more clothes from his hamper.

And then they’re both just standing there in the laundry room in just their underwear. 

Eddie thinks he could just about die from sheer embarrassment and his good fortune. He puts in the washing powder and turns the machine on, then looks back at Richie.

“I’ve got plenty of clothes up in my room,” Eddie says lamely. “And you can take a shower if you want.”

“Sounds good,” Richie says, following him out of the room.

They pass through the kitchen, and then through the empty living room and up the stairs. Eddie opens his door, and goes over to his closet while Richie stands in the doorway. He grabs a few hoodies out, then looks back at Richie.

“I’m, uh, not sure if these’ll fit,” he says. “There’s quite a noticeable, uh, size difference…” Eddie cringes as the words leave his mouth.

“Well, hey, I’m totally comfortable in my underwear if you are. Gives you all the more chance to check me out.” Richie leans against the door frame, wiggling his butt and pouting in a very un-seductive way.

Eddie bursts out laughing, and chucks his biggest hoodie at Richie’s face.

“You wound me,” Richie says dramatically. “Shower?”

“Yeah, it’s just down here,” Eddie leads him back down the hall, stopping by the closet to grab a spare towel. In the bathroom, he grabs his tray of toiletries from underneath the sink (Arthur does not see the point in keeping their stuff in separate trays, but Eddie sees it as nothing but practical), and puts it on top of Richie’s growing pile of things along with a new toothbrush. “You can use my stuff.”

“Thanks,” Richie says. “Really, I appreciate it.”

“No problemo,” Eddie smiles, taking his toothbrush and some toothpaste. On a whim, he grabs Richie’s glasses from his face. “I’ll clean these up for you.”

Richie squints down at him, and the cute face he makes as he squints really makes Eddie want to kiss him. He stops himself, though, and quickly leaves, heading to the smaller washroom downstairs. Either by accident or some not so subtle planning on Arthur’s part, he had missed Eddie’s head when he spilled the jungle juice, and his clothes had bore the brunt of the sticky abuse.

Eddie cleans his teeth and does a quick wipe down to get anything still left sticky, and then he trots back upstairs to Arthur’s room to grab his glasses cleaner, searching through a few drawers, pushing aside hair ties and papers with Arthur’s English Literature homework on them to do so, then he’s back in his room, flopping down on his bed after pulling a hoodie on.

He turns on the radio beside his bed, and starts singing along to the song quietly as he cleans Richie’s glasses.

“ _Mmmbop, dub ba do bop, dubba dubba do bop, yeah yeah_ ,” he sings along as he sprays the glasses and wipes them. By the time the song has finished, the glasses are dry and clean, and he puts them on to check for streaks.

“Fuck, you’re blind,” Eddie says to himself, taking them off before he gets a headache.

By the time the next song is finished, he hears the shower has been turned off, and there’s a knock on Arthur’s door. Eddie gets up, and leans out of his door.

“Wrong one,” he says, and Richie turns, but clearly can’t see him very well, which Eddie is very thankful for.

Richie has put on Eddie’s hoodie, and it’s just a little too tight, but oh boy, is that doing something for Eddie. Richie’s loose, tacky Hawaiian garb was hiding the bit of muscle that he had, but this is just showing it off now.

Eddie quickly composes himself as Richie steps closer, and puts his glasses on him.

“Much better,” Richie says, “Whoa, these are the cleanest they’ve been in a while! Thanks.”

Eddie tugs on his hoodie string nervously. “Do you want something to eat? We’ve got some leftover Chinese in the fridge.”

Richie reaches out as he turns to leave, grabbing onto Eddie’s elbow gently. “Does that count as dinner?” He asks quietly. 

The tension is absolutely palpable between them as Eddie’s eyes dart between Richie’s eyes and mouth, and he feels something snap within him. “Fuck it, the Doritos counted as dinner,” he says, and he surges forward, connecting their mouths, and also Richie’s head with the door frame.

There’s an audible crack, and Eddie backs away in panic, his eyes wide as Richie quickly puts a hand to the back of his head.

“Ow! Fuck!” Richie groans, rubbing the now tender spot.

“Oh, my god! Richie, I’m so fucking sorry! Are you okay? Oh god, is there blood? That sounded bad, I could have cracked your skull open! Fuck, what if you have a concussion? Richie-”

Richie shuts him up with another kiss.

“You do nothing by halves, do you?” Richie asks, wrapping his arms loosely around Eddie.

“You should let me have a look. I’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom,” Eddie moves away, back into the humid bathroom.

“I’m fine!” Richie tries to reassure him. “No blood, see?” He stands in the bathroom doorway, holding out his hand.

“I’d still prefer to take a look,” Eddie says, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet. He grabs Richie’s hand and leads him back to his bedroom, sitting them both down on the bed.

“I’m fine,” Richie says again, but he lets Eddie brush his hair away. “I didn’t hit my head hard enough.”

“There was a very audible cracking noise! Do you feel a concussion coming on?” Eddie asks, not finding any signs of blood.

“What does a concussion feel like?”

“Headache, dizziness, nausea, vomiting, confusion, ringing in the ears, slurred speech-”

Richie kisses him again.

“I feel fine,” he insists.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Eddie asks. “Because any symptoms can take a while to develop.”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Richie just about whines. “I-, hang on, I gotta turn that up!” He leans over to the radio on the bedside table, quickly turning it up as the song starts. “ _Yo, I’ll tell ya what I want, what I really really want!_ ”

Eddie doesn’t get the chance to think before he’s singing along as well. “ _So tell me what you want, what you really really want!_ ”

Eddie doesn’t normally sing along to songs this loudly, but he has so much fun that he doesn’t care about his lack of skill. Richie has a good set of pipes, though, so he figures it’s worth it. By the time the song is finished, they both have big smiles, and Eddie feels a lot more at ease.

He scoots closer to Richie, and is a lot more careful in his approach, wrapping his hand gently through Richie’s hair as he leans in to kiss him. They’re in an awkward position, but Eddie hardly cares at the moment, as he runs a hand up over Richie’s shoulder, and it feels just as nice as it does to look at it.

Eddie feels a hand come to cradle his jaw, and that feels very nice and secure, and then there’s another one running up and down his side, and that’s nice, too. The position they’re in, side by side but twisted so they can kiss, is starting to get really uncomfortable though, and Eddie, with great reluctance, has to pull away.

“You okay?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, I’m good, just need to shift a bit.”

“You wanna lie down?”

Eddie nods, and he moves to lie down, Richie hovering above him as his head hits the pillow, opening up his legs so he can slide between them. They grind together as they kiss, things quickly becoming more heated. With every thrust, Eddie can feel them both getting harder.

“Mmm, Eddie,” Richie manages. “I really wanna suck your dick, is that okay?”

Eddie would not describe the sound that comes out of his mouth as a squeak, but that’s definitely what he did. “You wanna what?”

“Give you a blow job?”

“I’m suddenly feeling light headed. Am I the one with the concussion?”

“That’s probably because of the hot guy offering to toot your horn,” Richie says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He’s already moving himself down the bed, tugging at the hem of Eddie’s hoodie.

“You give yourself a lot of compliments?” Eddie asks, Richie now crouching between his legs.

“Only when they’re deserved. Come on, lemme suck your dick, I’m sure it’s just as gorgeous as your face,” he starts pressing light kisses to the area above the waistband of Eddie’s underwear.

“Sure, if penises can be described as gorgeous.”

“Are you sure you’re gay? I mean, I never really asked, but-”

“I’m bi, I guess, or whatever. I don’t know, I don’t care. I like who I like.”

“Oh, Eduardo! You like me, you really like me!” Richie says dramatically, putting on a voice that’s eerily similar to Sally Field.

“That… was an oddly good impression,” Eddie compliments. “Also, don’t call me that, that’s not my name. I’m kinda tempted to knee you in the gut.”

“Kinky.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can we get this off, now?” Richie asks, pushing up the hoodie.

Eddie sits up, and pulls it off quickly, dumping it on the floor, though it kills him to do so. He paws at the hoodie Richie is wearing, and it seems a shame to take it off, but then it’s gone, and oh, that is so much better. Richie is lean, but has some muscle and definition all over that would be incredibly difficult not to appreciate. Eddie finds himself licking his lips for the umpteenth time that night. He knows his lips aren’t that dry, but he really can’t help it.

Richie tugs at Eddie’s underwear then, and he can feel his heart beating fast, and not in a nice way, but not necessarily in a bad one, either. But he lets Richie pull his underwear, lifting his lips up to help, his hard cock falling against the top of his thigh.

“I, uh, haven’t done this before,” Eddie says nervously.

“Done what?” Before Richie gets an answer, though, he takes hold of Eddie’s cock and gives it one long lick from root to tip.

Eddie bucks his hips. “Oh, fuck, that! I haven’t had a blow job before.”

Richie starts moving his hand up and down slowly. “Oh really? I couldn’t tell.” He puts his head back down, and starts with little licks around the tip.

Eddie can barely believe what’s happening. He’s not sure how long he’s going to last with how quickly Richie is going, as he starts taking in Eddie’s cock in small increments into his mouth. It’s hot and wet, but the sensation is entirely different from the one girl Eddie’s had sex with.

Eddie starts moaning, unable to keep himself quiet as Richie starts bobbing his head. Eddie snakes a hand down into Richie’s hair, but he only uses it to hold on rather than get him to do anything else.

Richie’s other hand is moving out of sync with his head, and it’s all building up very nicely, when suddenly, he feels a wet finger begin to probe at his entrance, and Eddie jumps up immediately.

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! Please fucking _knock_ when you want to enter through the back door! Jesus Christ!”

Richie just looks up at him, mouth red and wet with saliva, glasses crooked, and finger still hovering where it was placed against Eddie’s entrance. “Sorry, uh, my bad. Would you… _like_ … a finger up the butt?” He asks awkwardly.

“ _Yes_! Now use some fucking lube, you moron,” Eddie quickly leans over to his bedside table, placing a few things on top before finding the bottle. “I am not about to get a tear because you used spit.”

“Did Shakespeare say that? That was like poetry to my ears.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he lies back down, and hears the sound of the bottle cap open. He opens up his legs a bit wider as he feels the cool, slick prodding of Richie’s finger at his entrance. “Go slow, yeah? And no more than two fingers, I haven’t-”

Richie cuts him off when the tip of his finger goes in, and starts sucking again. The finger in him is gentle, but it also isn’t doing much besides going in and out, Eddie notices.

“Hey, um, crook your finger up. Like, bend it at the knuckle- _ah_ , yeah, that’s it, you feel the difference in-” Any further sounds that come from Eddie’s mouth reduce to moans as Richie keeps at it on his prostate.

Eddie winds a hand back through Richie’s hair, the other reaching for the headboard, holding on for dear life as the pleasure began to climb in what felt like such a short amount of time. His hips move downward, automatically chasing the stimulation Richie is giving him. He’s panting, blood is pumping, and then-

“Richie, I’m gonna-”

Richie doesn’t let up with his finger or mouth, Eddie’s little ‘ _aah_ ’s in time with the thrusting of his finger music to his ears. He takes the hand off of Eddie’s cock as he starts coming, using it to keep Eddie’s hips down, but keeps his mouth in place, catching every last drop.

Eddie feels amazing, the endorphins lasting as he finally opens his eyes and looks down at Richie, with his _very_ wet mouth and chin. His dick gives a feeble twitch at the sight.

“I’ve got tissues,” Eddie manages, motioning to them on his bedside table, but he’s too boneless to reach over for them.

“No need,” Richie says, climbing up the bed to lie beside Eddie. “How else would I get my protein?”

Eddie makes a very disgusted noise at that. “Still, wipe your hand at least, you monster,” he manages to roll over and grab the box, chucking it gently onto Richie’s chest.

Richie rolls his eyes but does as asked. “I think you out gayed me with that finger tip,” he comments.

“Not gay,” Eddie corrects, still catching his breath. “Also, could you slow down just a tad? Maybe ask ahead of time what your partners like? I’m not complaining or anything-”

“Just giving me feedback,” Richie smirked.

“Do you want feedback? I can give you feedback,” Eddie laughs, Richie giving him a soft punch to the shoulder.

Eddie leans back over to the bedside table, and grabs a tin of breath mints from the drawer, giving one to Richie.

“I hate the taste of spunk,” Eddie explains.

Richie rolls his eyes again. “Definitely not gay,” he mumbles, but he quickly chews on it anyway, Eddie watching him hungrily until he’s satisfied that the mint has done its job before kissing him again.

Eddie runs his hand down Richie’s torso, until he meets the underwear, and then he gently touches his hard cock, feeling it twitch beneath the fabric.

“Um, do you mind if I don’t blow you? I haven’t done that before, and it seems kinda daunting.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, that’s fine, totally cool. I am at your mercy, sir, I am cool with anything and everything.”

“Even nipple torture?” Eddie asks, almost innocently, as he reaches below the band of Richie’s underwear, gently touching his cock.

“Ah, well, maybe not nipple torture. My nipples are quite sensitive.” Eddie tugs Richie’s cock out from his underwear, and it falls against his lower abdomen. “And there’s Richie Junior. I think he’s pretty damn cute, you know, for a penis.”

“Is that really how you refer to your dick in front of strangers?” Eddie laughs, letting his head fall into the crook of Richie’s neck. “As much as I enjoy them, I’ve never found penises to be particularly nice looking. I’m learning so much about you, guy I’ve known for the better part of an hour.”

“But it’s the best damn hour of your life, am I right?”

Eddie reaches for the lube bottle, getting a bit on his hand before starting to stroke Richie’s dick slowly, Richie’s head falls back gently onto the headboard with a sigh, his eyes fluttering close and his breathing quickening.

“Oh, absolutely. I’m going to remember this hour and this particular hand job for the rest of my life. You totally aren’t going to be just one in a very big sea of hot guys and girls.” Eddie starts picking up the pace. “My friend Arthur stained that truly terrible Space Jam shirt with Kool-Aid,” a bit faster now, “I just about gave you a concussion-”

“Don’t rag on the greatest piece of cinema while jerking me off,” Richie grunts.

Faster again, Richie starts panting heavily.

“I mean, are you sure you’re okay? Like, you’re not starting to feel dizzy or anything at the moment, are you? That would be a shame. I tried your glasses on when you were in the shower. ”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Richie manages, his face now red.

Eddie’s smirk is plastered firmly on his face, as he moves his hand faster, adding a little twist around the head. The washing machine beeps downstairs, and Eddie’s smirk turns quite evil as he stops, taking his hand away from Richie’s very red and weeping cock.

“Oh, look at that! Laundry is done, I’ll be just a moment,” Eddie says, throwing a leg off the side of the bed.

“What! Oh, my god, no! Please don’t leave me hanging! I’m so close!” Richie desperately grabs hold of Eddie’s forearm.

Eddie sits back down, his hand quickly returning to Richie’s cock, and goes at such a speed his forearm begins to hurt, but he ignores it. Thirty seconds later, Richie is a quivering mess with several white streaks running down his chest. He takes his glasses off, blindingly putting them on the nightstand so he can rub his eyes.

Eddie grabs the box of tissues, cleaning his hand and then leaving the box on the bed beside Richie as he gets up, looking very proud of himself.

“Did I really just get the best hand job of my life and discover a whole new kink at the same time?” Richie groans, hands dragging his lower eyelids down.

Eddie gives a small laugh as he grabs his underwear from the floor and pulls them on. “I’m gonna go and put the clothes in the dryer, okay? Just leave you blissed out here for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, sure baby, I’m not even gonna notice that you’re gone. I’m still living in the moment,” Richie covers his eyes with his hands, as if to emphasise the point.

Eddie smiles, and quickly ducks out of the room. He shivers a bit, wishing he’d grabbed his hoodie, but he’s already at the bottom of the stairs. He jogs through to the laundry room, and chucks everything into the barely used dryer. He pauses in the kitchen and makes them some PB+J sandwiches before heading back up.

“You hungry?” Eddie asks as he opens the door. He doesn’t go much further from the doorway when he sees Richie reading the letter from the nightstand. “Reading people’s private letters a kink of yours, too?” He storms over and snatches the letter from Richie’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” Richie says, and Eddie can’t help but think of how small he suddenly looks. “I just... I recognised the handwriting. I’ve been getting letters from him, too.”

Eddie stares down at him, confused. “What?”

“Yeah, like, once a year since I started college.”

Eddie sits down, setting the plate with their sandwiches onto the nightstand. “Same, once a year. He’s become a bit of a pen pal. What does he write to you about?”

“The same stuff in your letter. He keeps saying that I’ve forgotten, and that I need to remember. I replied once, to say he’d got the wrong guy, but yeah, he keeps sending them.”

“I, uh, I’m not sure how to feel about this,” Eddie says, looking at Richie. It’s quite the different picture now, whatever afterglow of sex there was gone, and Richie just kind of looks scared and confused and incredibly naked. “Here,” Eddie hands him a sandwich.

Richie takes it, tearing off a small bit and puts it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Do you think… that we’re actually those people he’s talking about?” He asks quietly.

Eddie bends down over the bed to retrieve Richie’s underwear and their hoodies, putting them on the bed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so? I certainly don’t remember anything that he’s talking about.”

“But it’s a hell of a coincidence that we’ve both got letters from him,” Richie points out, “That he’s talking about an Eddie and a Richie, and… I can’t remember the other names.”

“Yeah, that part is actually kind of terrifying,” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he feels his sinuses begin to tighten. “Ugh, I’m getting a headache just thinking about it. Which is why I don’t like trying to.”

“Same,” Richie mutters, a hand going to his temple as he scrunches his eyes.

“Let’s… let’s not, then,” Eddie suggests. “I put your clothes in the dryer, but they’ll take a while. You’re welcome to sleep here, if you want. I know the bed is small, but-”

“It’s cosy,” Richie says around his sandwich, pulling his underwear on. “And thanks, I will, if that’s okay, I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“I’m the little spoon,” Eddie says with a grin, getting up again and watching Richie scramble to get himself underneath the blanket.

“Of course you are, otherwise you’d be a backpack,” Richie grins back, lifting the blanket up so Eddie can join him.

They eat their sandwiches in silence, leaning on each other. The moment is nice, comfortable.

“Hey, could I take you out on a real date?” Richie asks, his mouth still full.

Eddie waits until he swallows his mouthful before he replies. “How long are you in New York for?”

“Only a few more weeks, so it’d be nothing serious, if that’s okay?”

“We met each other, like, _ninety minutes_ ago. I clearly don’t give a shit at this point about seriousness.”

“True.”

“But yeah, sure, I’d like to go out on a date with you,” Eddie says with a smile, looking back up at Richie.

“Richie Tozier does it again!” He says with a yawn, settling down onto the pillow. “G’night.”

He throws an arm around Eddie’s middle and snuggles in close, and is snoring before Eddie has turned off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to leave a comment and make this author happy!


	3. Chapter 3

**September, 2003**

The walls are paper fucking thin, and for the third morning in a row, Richie is awoken to the sounds of extremely hetero sex coming from the next room. The thought vaguely wanders through Richie’s sleepy mind, wandering if Shannon and Leroy have forgotten that fact, but then he remembers: they most certainly have not.

He bangs his fist against the wall, his framed Space Jam poster threatening to fall off with every thump, as he hears what must be an incredibly exaggerated moan from Shannon. Richie refuses to believe that any straight man could be that good at sex.

“Please do that a little more quietly!” He shouts, but then Leroy is joining in, and Richie tries to block it all out with his pillow, closing his eyes in an attempt to get back to sleep.

It doesn’t work.

With an angry groan, he gets up, and sleepily makes his way down to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. He quickly heads downstairs to grab the mail, does not flirt with the cute neighbour, and is back in time to pour the coffee. He takes two mugs with him to the table, and is just about to start sipping one when it’s _yoinked_ from his hands. Shannon sits down next to him, her mess of wild, red curls all over the place.

“Thanks, hun,” she says with a wink, drinking deeply.

“You wake me up to the dulcet tones of your vigorous lovemaking, and then you steal my coffee?” Richie glares at her, but there’s no real malice there and she knows it.

He starts drinking from the second mug.

“Just putting on a performance for you, sweetie,” she says, giving him a tap on the nose with her finger. “And those were very real moans, even if they were a bit louder than usual.”

She gets up, refilling her own mug and filling up another. Leroy makes a pit stop on his way through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, giving Shannon a peck on the mouth as he does so.

“Those moans _were real_ , thank you very much!” He says triumphantly.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today, boss?” Richie asks, taking a sip of his coffee while Shannon puts some bread into the toaster.

“We’ve got some more stock coming in today, and then we have someone from the bank coming in to do a risk assessment, so I need you on your best behaviour today, alright? He’ll be at the bar sometime between 1:30 and 2PM. He’ll need to interview you as well, while he’s there, so make sure to say nice things about me.’

She looks through the mail Richie dumped beside the coffee, sorting them out into two piles, Richie’s and hers and Leroy’s. She gets to the last one, and Richie can see the elegant handwriting of his name and address of the front before she flips it back round.

“Your pen pal Mike has sent another letter,” she said, grabbing some toast as it pops up, handing over the two to Richie.

“I can’t be bribed!” Richie says dramatically, but he starts eating the toast anyway. “Not with something so measly as a bit of bread!”

“You can and you will be,” Shannon says with a smirk. She gulps down her coffee and quickly eats her slice of toast. “What’s Mike say?”

Richie rips open the envelope, reading through the first paragraph. “His girlfriend dumped him, _and_ he got a promotion at the library all in one week.”

“Wow,” Shannon says. “Poor guy.”

Richie continues reading, one hand moving to support his chin. “Beverly has moved to Paris, apparently.”

“ _Passionnante!_ That girl really knows how to follow her dreams.”

“And Ben finally got a job at an architecture firm in Chicago.”

“Awesome. I really hope everything goes well for him.”

“Bill finally sold one of his manuscripts.”

“Excellent. Can’t wait to read it.”

“Stan and Patty got married.”

“And we didn’t get an invite to the wedding?”

“I don’t know any of these people, Shannon,” Richie reminded her. He puts the letter down before he reads the last paragraph. He’ll finish reading it later.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower with Leroy, and then you need to get in, too.”

“With you and Leroy? I know there’s not enough room,” Richie says, which earns him an eye roll and a swat to the head as Shannon walks by.

***~.~***

Richie is busy putting away the fresh bottles of booze behind the bar when he hears a knock at the locked door. He puts up the last bottle and sets aside the box, walking around the bar to unlock the door.

Richie pauses after he opens it, as there stands one of the hottest men he’s ever seen. He’s dressed impeccably in a suit, hair parted at one side and swooped over to the other, with some very handsome features and gorgeous dark brown eyes, all which very nearly make Richie’s knees go weak.

He’s very tempted to get his flirt on, or throw out a bad pick-up line in an act of deflection, but he also knows he needs to be professional.

“Hi, I’m looking for Shannon Carr? I’m from City Bank,” Hot Guy says, his professional smile very endearing.

“Yeah, sure, come on in. She’s just in the office out back,” Richie tells him, his brain finally catching up with the situation as he opens the door fully to allow him in. “I’ll go get her, um, take a seat, eat some nuts, and I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, no thanks, nuts are the dirtiest things that can be found within a bar,” Hot Guy says, taking a seat on a stool and plopping his briefcase down on the bar.

Richie can’t fault him on that. He’s seen how many hands go into those dishes, and he certainly won’t touch them. He watches as Hot Guy takes out a handkerchief from a pocket, and uses it to cover his hand and push the nearest dish away. He leaves him at that, and heads through the doorway to the back.

Richie finds Shannon in the office, where she’s seated at a desk, surrounded by paperwork and crunching some numbers, or whatever owners do. He knocks against the door frame to get her attention, and she looks up at him over her glasses.

“He’s here, that risk assessment guy,” he tells her, “and he is _hot_.”

She gets up, grin wide, and they both go to the doorway to peer around the corner discreetly. Hot Guy has his side turned to them, looking at their wall of flyers from his seat curiously. They quickly pull themselves back just in time as he swivels himself around.

“He is cute,” Shannon whispers. “You want me to suss out if he’s gay or not? It probably won’t come up, but I can try my best.”

“That would be great,” Richie whispers back, as Shannon cautiously looks around again. “God knows I want to get you and Leroy back for the past three days.”

She gives him a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ve got a plan,” she says, before they both emerge from the hallway. “Hi! I’m Shannon Carr, one of the co-owners.”

She holds out her hand, and it seems like it comes at a great personal cost for Hot Guy to shake it, but he does.

“I’m Edward Kaspbrak, with City Bank. We spoke over the phone,” he tells them, holding out his ID for Shannon to look at.

“I’m Richie Tozier, one of the managers.” The name does sound familiar, but Richie doesn’t dwell too long on it for too long.

They go to shake hands, and the second their skin meets, Richie feels like there’s an electric current running down his arm. All the muscles in his hand cramp so tightly that he notices Edward wince. There’s an itchy feeling in his head. Richie tries to let go, but doesn’t think he can. 

It almost feels like something within him just wants to hold this hand tight and never let it go again.

“Do I know you, or something?” Edward says, sounding annoyed but also looking just as confused as Richie feels. Richie’s still holding onto his hand with such a fierce grip that it’s starting to hurt.

“No, I don’t think so…” Richie grunts, trying to pull his hand away, but it just jerks Edward along with it.

“Well, then, can you not?” Edward tries pulling his hand away, too, and they’re stuck in a weird game of tug of war. “Let go, _please_.”

“I’m _trying_ …”

“Do not start kissing the guy’s hand, Richie!” Shannon says playfully, not understanding the moment. “Sorry about him, he likes to charm all the cute guys.”

Richie wants to face palm from how unsubtle she’s being. He really wants to step on her foot. He really wants his hand to _let the fuck go_.

Edward stares between the two of them, hand still firmly within Richie’s, but then it feels like he’s able to let go, whatever reared its ugly head receding back into the recesses of Richie’s mind. Edward takes his hand back slowly. Richie can see the red indents of where his fingers were as Edward reaches into his fanny pack and takes out a small bottle of hand sanitiser.

“I get sick easily, no offense or anything. Hands are just one of the easiest ways to transmit germs, and I don’t want to risk it with flu season coming,” Edward explains.

“Oh, both of our hands are clean! You don’t need to worry, right, Richie?” Shannon says with a smile, elbowing him gently.

“But it’s September, it’s fall- _ow_ \- oh, yes! Very clean!”

“Still, better safe than sorry,” Edward says.

“Would you like a tour?” Shannon asks.

“Yes, that’d be good.” He opens up his briefcase, and takes out a clipboard, pencil and tape measure, before following Shannon.

Richie heads back behind the bar, glaring daggers into Shannon’s back as she shows Edward to the back. She gives him a wide grin and thumbs up before disappearing around the corner. He inspects the red marks on his own hand for a moment, and then goes back to restocking the shelves.

Leroy comes in a few minutes later, another case of alcohol in his arms, which he puts onto the bar with a heave.

“Shannon around?” He asks.

“Yeah, she’s just giving the bank guy a tour and humiliating me in the process,” Richie replies, opening the case up.

“Oh, so what she normally does?”

Shannon comes back, a triumphant smile on her face as she waves about something in her hand. She sets it down quietly on the bar, and then gives her husband a quick kiss.

“What the fuck was that?” Richie hissed at her.

“A tape measure?” Leroy asks, picking it up.

“ _Edward’s_ tape measure,” she clarifies. “And that was me seeing how he would react to you flirting with him. And he did not freak out, like very straight Leroy here would have.”

“I would not freak out if a gay guy flirted with me. I would appreciate the attention, and then politely decline, explaining that I have a beautiful wife,” he holds up his left hand and gives the finger with the band a wiggle.

“Stop showing off your straight privilege, Leroy,” Richie says.

“Besides, I don’t think that’s the problem here. Did you really just pickpocket the guy?” Leroy groans.

“Nope. I simply found it on the floor and forgot to give it back,” she said with a shrug. The smirk completely undoes any feigning of innocence.

“That is morally reprehensible and I will not stand for it!” Richie says, a similar sarcastic smile growing to mirror Shannon’s. He reaches out to grab the tape measure.

“Maybe he needs some help with taking the measurements,” Shannon says suggestively.

“Richie, just give it back! Do not flirt with him while he is working!” Leroy says, the only voice of reason at the moment amongst the three.

“Then I’ll just have to invite him to the next show,” Richie says.

“ _Don’t_ flirt with him and you can have two shows a week!” Leroy offers.

“If you do and score a date, you can get three!” Shannon counters.

“Challenge accepted!” Richie says, slinking out from behind the bar and heading towards the back.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Shannon supplies before he turns down the hallway.

“We should not be encouraging this behaviour!” Leroy says.

Richie can still hear them bickering as he makes his way down the hallway, and then he’s met with a very intriguing sight as he enters the kitchen. Edward stands behind the stainless-steel table, and in front of the cabinets in the small kitchen. He’s patting himself down, looking confused and a little panicked, no doubt trying to find the tape measure Richie was currently holding.

“Hey,” Richie says gently, so as not to startle him. “This yours? I found it out in the hallway.” He holds up the tape measure.

“Oh, yes! Thank you,” Edward says, looking very relieved. It makes Richie feel guilty that Shannon took it in the first place. He gives a small smile as he approaches, hand outstretched to receive it. It’s a nice smile, Richie thinks, as he places the tape measure into Edward’s hand. There’s no shock at the skin contact this time.

“You need any help? I haven’t got much more to do until we open later,” Richie says, and he really hopes Eddie takes him up on the offer.

Edward flips the tape measure over a few times in his hands, as if remembering something about it, and Richie gets the impression that the thing is dear to him.

“Sure,” Edward finally says, after taking a deep breath. “I need to take some measurements around the building, and then I’ll need to ask you some questions, as well. Any other employees in before opening?”

“Not until four, I’m afraid,” Richie tells him. “Will that be a problem? I can always call a few in early.”

“No, um, just you is fine,” Edward says. He gives the tape measure back. “Could you measure the height please?” He stands back.

“You want metres or feet?” Richie asks, sliding out the tape.

“As much as I prefer metric, I must use the imperial,” Edward replies, looking, but not quite looking at the tape in front of Richie. He gave a huff of laughter as Richie makes a silly face at him, blushing as he's caught out.

“Fifteen feet,” Richie says, bending the tape to check. “So, what is your job?”

Edward makes a note of the measurement on his clipboard. “I’m a risk analyst. Or, I should be soon. At the moment I just gather all the data at the moment for the actual analyst. Then they put the report together. Lengthways, please.”

Edward takes hold of one end of the tape, and Richie moves across the room, avoiding the tables and cupboards. He holds it against the wall while Edward does the same at the other end.

“Twenty-six point two feet, sir,” he says.

Edward drops his end to write it down, and the tape comes quickly sliding back into its cover.

“They got you doing all the legwork, huh? That must suck,” Richie says.

“Sometimes. Not always,” Edward looks around quickly, looking nervous. “Today seems like a good day, though.”

Richie returns the shy smile. “Yeah?”

“I think so. It’ll go even better if you give me the width, please,” Edward walks over to grab the end of the tape again, shoving Richly gently in the chest to get him moving.

“Sixteen point four feet. You can’t get all this from the blueprints, or wherever?” Richie holds onto the tape as Edward’s let's go, and it shoots back in. He leans across the table as Edward sets his clipboard down, scribbling away on it.

“I already did that,” Edward says, and he’s got a cute little furrow of his eyebrows happening as he writes, “but I need to double check the measurements. I also need to go through any recent reports of injuries to staff or customers, look into crime statistics of the area to see what the likelihood of robberies are. And then I need to look through financial stuff, all so the analyst can generate a report for the bank, so they can see whether the investment is worth continuing or not. Five hundred and twenty-seven square feet,” he says in conclusion.

“And I thought my job was easy. Did you really just do all that math while talking?” Richie asked, finding himself both amazed and even more attracted to this man.

“I can do a lot of things at the same time,” Edward says, and the look on his face is both smug _and_ inviting. “It’s on the smaller side for a commercial kitchen.”

“Yeah, but it’s a bar. Nobody is really coming here for the food. We do serve some killer nachos, though. Highly recommend if you come back in your own time, Eds.” 

Richie feels brave enough to end with a wink, and he gets a slightly annoyed, bemused look in return. And is that a hint of a smile? Definitely a smile.

“It’s not a point against you guys or anything, don’t worry. And Eddie is fine. _Not_ Eds.” Eddie walks over to the fridge, taking note of the temperature from the gauge. “Bathrooms?”

“Yeah, sure, they’re down the other side of the hallway,” Richie says, leading the way.

As they pass the doorway looking into the main area of the bar, Shannon looks very excited and gives him two thumbs up, while Leroy just leans on the bar, head in his hands, looking exhausted. The excitement and thumbs up quickly turn into a smile and a wave as Eddie walks past.

Richie can see the look of panic that Eddie has when he enters the men’s room. While it’s _technically_ clean, the walls are absolutely covered in graffiti, along with pictures of old Hollywood stars covering the walls. Richie laughs at the other man’s face.

“Don’t worry, it’s all clean, I promise. I just hate how boring bathrooms are. Shannon decorated the women’s with starlets as opposed to actors. I wrote all the quotes,” Richie says, smiling at his handiwork.

Eddie seems to be put at ease as he reads some of the graffiti.

“What’s your role here?” Eddie asks, watching as Richie unfurls the tape to the ceiling.

“I’m one of the managers, like I said earlier,” Richie said. “I do all the manager-ing stuff.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Eddie says, embarrassed.

“I’m also a comedian, well, I’m trying to be, anyway. The manager position is just to pay the bills until I hit the big time, I guess. Shannon and Leroy are great bosses by the way, who take care of their employees and endeavour to make this a safe and fun workplace. I was not bribed to say that, by the way.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, chuckling.

“Not at all, Shannon bribed me with toast this morning.”

“But a comedian, huh? I don’t know about that, you must be having an off day,” Eddie says dryly.

“What, me and my-” Richie bends the tape down over Eddie’s shoulder to read it, “twelve-foot length here not doing it for you?”

Eddie bites back his laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Definitely not, considering that’s height.” He writes down the number. Richie can see his fighting a smile as the tape slithers back. “ _Now_ for the length.”

They’re not very far apart as Eddie reaches out to put a hand on Richie’s chest, gently pushing him all the way back until his back hits the wall. Richie feels like he’s in a trance at the action, as Eddie doesn’t break eye contact the whole time. It’s incredibly hot, and Richie is just about ready to melt into a puddle as Eddie grabs the end of the tape and walks backwards all the way to the door.

Richie feels how dry his mouth has become, thinking that he would happily let himself be wrapped around Eddie’s little finger.

“What’s it say?” Eddie asks, looking proud of himself for doing something so bold.

“Uh…” Richie tries to say, his brain desperately trying to catch up from the very hot moment. “Thirty-two point eight feet.”

“Now there’s a believable length,” Eddie smirks, writing it down. “Now the depth, please.”

“The what?”

“The _width_.”

Richie quickly measures it. “Nine point eight,” he says, straightening his glasses nervously.

Another moment of quick scribbling on the clipboard, and then Eddie looks back up. “Come on, next room.”

“Yeah, sure, just a… just a sec,” Richie says, but Eddie has already left. He takes his glasses off and splashes some cool water on his face, willing for everything to _calm the fuck down_ before he straightens up and follows Eddie to the women’s.

Judy Garland greets him when he enters the women’s, smiling down at the two from the other end of the bathroom. Richie had almost forgotten there was a picture of her in here. He kind of hopes that it’s a gay blessing.

“Just the width in here will do,” Eddie says, looking at the picture thoughtfully.

“Sure thing, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie pauses in the unravelling of the tape measure, confused by how easily the words came from his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay. I don’t hate it. That much.” Eddie smiles at it, though. “Just Eddie.”

“Eight point two feet.”

Richie sees the smiling face of Liza Minelli on the back of the door, and fuck it, decides to bite the bullet.

“Hey, um, I know this is very forward, but um, would you like to get a coffee sometime? With me?”

Eddie slowly looks up from his clipboard, a look of panic on his face. Whatever flirtatious mood they had going on is quickly gone, Richie realises. Something’s come over Eddie, and he doesn’t want to push it.

“Sorry,” Richie says quickly, walking over and holding the tape measure out. “That was presumptuous of me. I don’t even know if you’re gay or not.”

“I’m bi, but I do have to say no,” Eddie says.

He’s looking down at the tape measure, and Richie feels like he can read Eddie’s face like a book. He looks apologetic, and sad, and like he’s missing someone desperately. He picks up the tape measure, holding it aloft. Richie can see a turtle on it.

“This was my boyfriend’s. His name was Daniel, and he got hit by a car after going back home to pick this up. I tried to give him CPR, but he was dead before he hit the ground. That was nearly eighteen months ago.”

Richie doesn’t know what to make of that. He watches as Eddie runs his fingers over the tape measure, and then he scoops up the smaller man into a hug. He knows he barely knows the guy, but what the hell else is he supposed to do with that kind of information?

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, chin at an awkward angle on Richie’s shoulder. He timidly winds his arms around Richie’s middle, slowly returning the hug. “So, um, I’m just not ready yet. For the whole dating and relationship thing. I’m still… yeah.”

“I get it. The not being ready thing, not the other… I don’t think that’s something anyone really wants to get. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I still don’t know either, but flirting with a cute guy and then hugging him in a women’s bathroom certainly helps.”

“Really?”

“No, but it certainly makes for an enjoyable afternoon.”

They break apart, and Eddie wipes away the few tears that have started. They share a sad smile amongst all the happy ones of old Hollywood.

“Hey, if you want, Fridays are our comedy nights. You can come along with some friends, I can actually make you laugh.”

“That sounds good. I’ll think about it,” Eddie says, meaning it. “Are there any other rooms?”

“Uh, yeah, there’s just the office and the main area out there.”

They get through the measurements of the rooms quickly, Richie managing to coax a few more smiles out of Eddie as they do so. Shannon and Leroy are nowhere to be seen as they measure the main area, though Richie suspects that they’re hiding behind the bar.

As Eddie puts his things away in the briefcase, Richie takes a flyer from the wall, the one advertising their comedy nights.

“Here,” he says, putting it beside Eddie’s suitcase.

Eddie looks at it, then puts it in one of the briefcase pockets before closing it. “Thanks. I really will think about it,” he promises. “I’ll send over a copy of the report as soon as it’s done.”

“Sure, no rush,” though Richie knows he’s said it for Shannon, a few red ringlets poking up from behind the bar.

The moment is awkward then, as Richie starts unlocking the door again. He’s not sure if, or how he should say goodbye. They’re strangers, but he’s also not sure to what degree.

“Well, uh, goodbye,” Eddie says eventually, holding his hand out. He doesn’t seem as anxious about the gesture as he did earlier.

Richie feels his fingers going into the indents he caused earlier, as he feels Eddie’s go into his, but it’s much gentler this time.

“Yeah, see ya,” Richie says, and they let go. He holds the door open for Eddie, and then he’s gone.

“That was… sad?” Shannon says from behind the bar.

“A little,” Richie says as she and Leroy pop up. “He, uh, lost someone recently. He’s not ready to start dating yet.”

Shannon walks out from behind the bar, giving Richie a tight hug. “Sorry you won’t be able to exact your revenge any time soon,” she says, rubbing his back.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Richie replies, hugging her back. “I can do that by myself at any time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday today, so you can have this chapter a little early! :P Make sure to leave a comment, let me know what you guys think! Thanks for reading so far, I appreciate every single one you! We're over a third of the way through, which is scary! I finished this nearly six months ago, and I've very eagerly these posting weeks!
> 
> Enjoy!

**January, 2004**

The little clock on Eddie’s desk finally tells him that it’s 5PM, and he sighs, rubbing his eyes as he thinks about how long the week has felt. Slowly, he gets up, his eyes finally seeing something other than the three depressingly grey walls of his cubicle as he spots Myra by the elevator. 

She’s sticking a poster to the wall, with the date for the next blood drive she’s organising. Her bright blonde hair and vivid red lipstick stand out against the dreariness of the office, a contrast Eddie always enjoys seeing.

She looks over, and catches his eye, smiling brightly at him, and Eddie smiles back, his heart just about fluttering in his chest. He has to duck down before he makes a fool of himself as he feels the blush start to creep in, quickly shoving his things into his briefcase, and waits a few moments for his skin to cool down. Then he stands back up, grabs his coat and scarf from the back of his chair.

Eddie does his best not to rush over to the elevator, since he hates the feeling of seeming like he’s too eager. He comes to stand next to Myra in front of the elevator, and they smile at each other again, then looking away. He hasn’t felt like this in a while. Not since Daniel.

It scares Eddie, he’s fucking terrified of the prospect, but he’s also excited, and also not sure if he’s ready. He kind of wants to sweep Myra off her feet and also shove her back so the elevator doors can close before she can get in. Eddie doesn’t do either of those things, though, and they both step into the elevator once it arrives.

She goes to press the button, but he does it for her. She tucks a stray bit of hair behind her ear, looking away.

“So how do you know this place we’re going to?” He asks her.

“It’s a place called _Puzzles_. I’ve been a few times; Friday nights are their comedy nights. I found a flyer for them a few months ago on top of the recycling bin and it seemed interesting,” she says.

“That sounds good,” Eddie says, and then he doesn’t know what else to say for the rest of the ride down. They’re standing pretty close, and he desperately wants to reach out and hold her hand.

The elevator doors open before he builds up the nerves to. They cross the lobby, walking close to each other, every now and then their shoulders bumping. Eddie quickly puts on his scarf as Myra goes through the revolving doors first, and then he’s outside beside her again.

“Where to?” He asks.

“It’s not far, just a few stops on the subway. The others are probably on their way,” she said, already leading the way.

Eddie smiles as he follows her.

***~.~***

It’s the first time in a long while that Eddie has gone out. His weekends are usually spent in, maybe going around to a friend’s, but he hasn’t been to a bar properly in ages. The drinks are cheap, thank goodness, as he’s only just starting making some good actual money, so he’s determined to save as much as he can.

Eddie has some good laughs; the comedians are pretty funny. He and Myra sit at a table with a few other people from work that he recognises, but he never really talks to. Myra, every now and then, grasps his arm as she laughs, and that feels nice.

He finds his attention being stolen, however, when the host of the night does his thing between the acts. He tells a few jokes between each one, and those are the ones that Eddie finds himself laughing at the hardest. He’s also pretty damn cute, with large glasses, curly hair and the squarest fucking jaw Eddie has seen in a while, and he _really_ likes that.

Then his broad shoulders are covered by a garish combination of a print un-buttoned up shirt that’s got blue with white leaves all over it, and an undershirt that’s got a picture of a penguin carrying an orange.

And the types of jokes he tells seem very familiar, Eddie gets an odd sense of déjà vu when the guy uses a voice to give a punchline. Everything about the guy seems to feel particularly reminiscent of… _something_ , but Eddie can’t quite put his finger on what.

“Hey guys! Everyone give a round of applause for Jessie! How great was she? That was her first open mic night, and she killed it!” The man pauses for all the cheering and applause she gets, giving her a clap himself. “Thanks for being the last act of the night, you are definitely welcome back any time!

“So how’s everyone doing tonight, huh? Hope you’re all hurting from all the laughing! We’ve had a ton of great people up on the stage here tonight, and we’re all glad you all could join us. You know, I’ve been working here since ’97, which is crazy to think about. I started out as a bartender, and worked my way up. Went from constantly managing my frosted tips to actually managing this place!”

Eddie laughs, trying to think what the guy would look like with frosted tips, but he doesn’t want to think about the worst hair trend of the decade on those lovely curls.

The guy smiles from the stage as he waits for the laughter to die down.

“The regulars will know this lady, shout out to Shannon, one of the owners of this fine establishment! Don’t worry if you don’t know who she is, all you need to know is that she looks like a lion and is just as savage as one! Like just this morning, she told me that if I got a haircut, I’d look just like Ross! _Ross_! The objectively _worst Friend_! I gotta tell you guys, I was hurt. Clearly, I’m Chandler. You know, a little goofy looking, always making bad jokes, people always assume I’m gay.”

The guy shrugs and pauses for affect, waiting for the laughter to die down.

“Well, that assumption would be correct! I am _very_ gay! So maybe, _Shannon_ , we’re more _Will & Grace_ than _Friends_. We’ve known each since college, in California. She really helped me come to terms with who I am. No, really, we dated for like a month, and I just kept putting all that… stuff off, ya know? Well, we’ve been best friends ever since. I mean, I think we both should have realised sooner that I was gay, because we went to see _Clueless_ at the cinema for a date and we were both staring dreamily at Paul Rudd.”

Eddie laughs particularly hard about that. He remembered seeing that movie and thinking that both Paul Rudd and Alicia Silverstone were gorgeous.

“So, maybe we’re not quite _Will & Grace_, for obvious reasons, but that’s okay. To get real for a moment, I do really wanna thank Shannon, and Leroy, of course. They set up these open mic nights when they bought the business, and that really helped me get going on my dream of being a comedian. As much as I love managing work schedules, I love making people laugh more, and that’s all I ever wanted as a job. Well, now the ball is really rolling! This is my last night here, because just last week I got a manager, _and_ I’m moving to LA!”

There’s lots of loud cheering from around the bar, Eddie gathering that they’re the regulars the guy was talking to. He hears Myra give a sad _aw_ , though, amongst her claps.

“So, thank you, Shannon and Leroy, for both convincing me to get those awful fucking frosted tips and believing in me! And thank you guys, for being the best audience on my last night! It’s been an honour hosting these open mics for ya, and it’s been an honour making you guys laugh for the past few years. I’m gonna leave you in the very good hands of our CD player, make sure to try the nachos, and thank you all so much again! Goodnight guys!”

With a wave, the guy leaves the small stage, and the lighting is restored to the rest of the bar. Eddie looks at Myra, his diaphragm aching from how hard he’s been laughing.

“I didn’t know he was leaving! That’s a shame, he was my favourite comedian here,” Myra says.

“I’ll make sure to buy us tickets to his next show,” Eddie says, and his heart flutters as he realises what he’s said. “When he’s back in New York, I mean.” Myra nods, smiling at him, and he smiles back, too.

He knocks back the rest of his drink nervously, and notices that hers is just about gone, too. Eddie stands up, needing a break from the anxiety he gets from the situation, and tells Myra he’s going to get the next round.

“Don’t be too long,” she tells him, and that has implications that fucking terrifies him.

“Of course not,” Eddie replies, and he hurries off.

He makes his way through the crowd, reaching the bar and finding the only gap, and waits for a bartender to become available. Eddie stares down the bar surface, looking concerned by the potential of the bacteria that may not have been cleaned properly. He starts to worry about whether the glasses have been washed properly, when the guy next to him accidentally elbows his side.

“Ow,” Eddie winces, and turns to look at the guy. It’s the guy from the stage.

“Sorry, man,” he says, and Eddie watches as the guy’s eyes give him a quick once over. He feels a familiar blush coming on. “Hey, do I know you?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Eddie says, confused.

“Well, I’m about to, then,” he says, leaning against the bar and holding out his hand. “I’m Richie.”

“Very suave,” Eddie snorts, but he doesn’t take Richie’s hand, as much as he wants to. He digs into his fanny pack, watching Richie’s face as he does so with a laugh. He takes out his bottle of hand sanitiser.

“You wear a fucking fanny pack?” Richie asks, looking down at it.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” Eddie smirks, and he sees Richie’s eyes come back up and focus on his mouth. “I need to carry a lot of stuff, my asthma inhaler and medication, disinfectant, hand sanitiser.”

Eddie gestures for Richie to flip his hand, and Richie does it, but not without an eye roll. Eddie squirts a generous amount onto Richie’s hand, then onto his own.

“Okay…” Richie says as he rubs the sanitiser over his hands. “Fucking weird about the fanny pack, but okay.”

“I get sick easily. I do what I can to make sure that I don’t. Make sure to get between your fingers,” Eddie instructs.

“Hey, you’re cute and all, but are you really worth all this trouble?” Riche ponders, holding his hand out again.

Eddie’s already taken hold of Richie’s hand before he’s registered what he’s said. Richie’s fingers clamp down around his palm, an odd look passing through his face. Eddie winces at the tight grip, watching as Richie absently scratches at his head. But then he blinks, his grip loosening but not letting go, and a lovely, goofy smile appears.

“Yes!” Eddie finds himself saying quickly, returning the smile.

Richie smirks. “You were laughing pretty loudly,” he says, leaning a little closer.

“A lot of people were laughing loudly, that’s kind of the point,” Eddie says, but he leans in as well. They finally let go of each other's hands, and Eddie puts his down.

“I think people two streets away could hear you in particular,” Richie grins. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie.”

“Eddie,” Richie repeats. He’s pretty close right now, and Eddie can feel his heartbeat beginning to rise.

“Richie,” Eddie says in return, feeling himself being drawn in closer. They’re only a few inches away now, he can make out the finer details of Richie’s face. He really wants to run his fingers through that hair, across the stubble on his cheeks. “I can’t imagine your hair with frosted tips.”

“Oh, well, it happened. I’ve got the pictures to prove it.”

“I, uh, I’d like to see them,” Eddie says, suddenly feeling brave about this.

“Yeah? You wanna get outta here? Unless you’ve got to get back to your girlfriend,” Richie says, looking over Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie turns around, and sees Myra waving at him. He waves back, feeling a confusing mixture of things at the sight of her. There’s so many things he wants to do with her: go on dates, hold hands, all the lovey dovey stuff. But that also terrifies him, he’s not ready to dive back into that.

Richie, meanwhile, is right here and right now, and it doesn’t have to last more than the night. That doesn’t seem so daunting, and Eddie is already feeling pretty brave. 

He makes his choice.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he says, turning back. “I mean, maybe soon, but not right now.”

“Sorry, I didn’t realise you were-”

“I’m not!” Eddie says quickly. “I’m bi. And I’d like to, get out of here, I mean, if the offer still stands,” Eddie can feel himself thrumming with excitement.

“It does,” Richie says, smiling. “Let’s go, then.”

“I’ll meet you outside,” Eddie tells him, and Richie nods, leaving the bar and walking away through the crowd.

Eddie orders a gin and tonic for Myra, and brings it over, setting it down on the table in front of her.

“Hey, sorry, I’m gonna take off. I’m… feeling pretty tired. I’ll see you at work on Monday, okay?” He grabs his coat and scarf, and then avoids her disappointed look by bending down to pick up his briefcase.

“Okay,” she says, placing her hand gently on his for a moment. Eddie can feel his heart tugging him in two different directions, but he knows which way he’s going for now. “Thank you, for the drink. See you on Monday.”

He gives her another wave, and then he darts off through the crowd, haphazardly pulling on his coat as he goes. He makes it outside, winding his scarf around his neck, and looks around for Richie. Eddie spots him on the corner, fiddling with an unlit cigarette.

They smile at each other as Eddie comes closer.

“Come on then, Eddie Spaghetti. My place is this way,” Richie says, tilting his head in the direction, and starting to walk off, already leading the way.

Eddie smiles as he follows him. 

“What’d you call me?”

***~.~***

“Sorry this place is such a mess,” Richie says as he unlocks his apartment door.

Eddie nearly sends himself into a panic attack as he imagines rubbish, dirty dishes, and rats scurrying around gathering bits of old food for their gross rodent children. A nice, safe and warm environment for millions of bacteria and germs to grow. But it’s just filled with a bunch of moving boxes, and Eddie breathes a sigh of relief.

“I’m moving on Monday,” Richie explains as he shuts the door after Eddie. He chucks his keys into a nearby bowl.

“Yeah, LA, you said in your thing,” Eddie said, standing awkwardly in the small foyer, not sure what to do now that he’s here.

“Yeah, my manager – that’s still fucking weird to say – got me a few gigs out there, so I’m kinda diving right into the deep end,” Richie says, walking further into the apartment. He throws his coat over the back of the sofa, despite the bunch of perfectly good hangers on the wall by the door.

Richie moves through to the kitchen while Eddie hangs his coat up and puts his briefcase down. “The couch is pretty comfy,” he says, opening up the fridge. “There’s some beer in the fridge if you want some?”

Eddie comes to stand by the couch, looking at Richie while he’s bent over, head in the fridge.

“I’m not a beer kind of guy,” Eddie says lamely.

“That’s cool! Uh, maybe some water, then? I don’t know, I haven’t really done this thing in a while,” Richie says, standing up and closing the fridge. He betrays his nerves as he pushes his glasses back up his nose, and then by ruffling his hair.

“Neither have I,” Eddie says, a little reassured that it isn’t just him. “I’ve never had a one night stand, or anything. Never just went home with a stranger,” he laughs a little.

“Are you a virgin?” Richie blurts out, and he looks like he regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that-”

“No, I’m not a virgin. But it’s been a while since I’ve done anything, with someone else I mean,” Eddie says, feeling truthful.

“That’s cool! I’m just wondering what you want to do,” Richie wanders back over, hands in his pockets.

He stands right in front of Eddie, the tips of their shoes just touching. Eddie really wants to yank him down for a kiss, but he can’t actually fathom the action of doing that yet.

“Can we brush our teeth first? I feel fucking stupid for asking, but I’d rather have clean, uh, mouths,” Eddie asks.

“You got a toothbrush in your fanny pack?” Richie laughs, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, actually,” Eddie mutters, already digging into his fanny pack while Richie continues to laugh. He pulls out a travel sized toothbrush. “Gotta be prepared for anything.”

“And anything includes going home with soon-to-be famous comedians to look at old photos of their frosted tips?” Richie delicately places his hands on Eddie’s waist.

“And by frosted tips we do mean sex, right?” Eddie grabs a fistful of Richie’s shirt, bringing his head down, until the tips of their noses are almost touching, too.

“God, I fucking hope so,” Richie says, leaning in, but stopping just before they actually kiss. “Come on, bathroom’s this way,” and he leaves Eddie’s personal space, with Eddie’s head still tilted upwards and eyes closed.

Eddie blinks a few times, caught off guard. He shakes his head, and then follows Richie to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly domestic as they brush their teeth. Richie offers to put the toothpaste onto Eddie’s brush, saying in an atrocious French accent: “ _Tell me when, monsieur._ ” Richie’s eyebrow continues to lift as he slowly starts covering all the bristles, and then Eddie finally yanks his hand away to run the brush under the tap.

When the last remnants of toothpaste have been rinsed down the drain, Eddie finally gives in, and pulls Richie down by the scruff of his stupid, dumb shirt for a kiss. It’s messy with no real finesse, as Eddie hasn’t kissed anyone in years, and he’s just about forgotten how to do it. As amazing as it is to be doing this again, it really isn’t that good yet, and Eddie is impatient for it to be so. He’s missed this.

Eddie starts it fast, but he quickly slows down, and he’s glad as Richie respects the change of pace. He unfurls his hands, and Eddie feels Richie’s large ones come up to cradle his jaw.

When Eddie finally runs out of breath, his heart beating faster than he has in a while, he breaks away. He keeps his eyes closed as he feels Richie leans further down to start pressing gentle kisses along his cheek, his jaw, his neck, and it feels nice and oddly familiar.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” Eddie confesses, running his hands up and down Richie’s sides.

“That’s okay,” Richie says quietly into Eddie’s ear. “You wanna take this to the couch? Or my bed? What do you wanna do?”

Eddie hums for a moment, still enjoying the kisses he’s getting. “Bed,” he says eventually. “Sounds a lot more comfortable than the couch.”

“A lot more privacy too, I mean, my roommates won’t be home until at least 4:30,” Richie says, giving Eddie one last kiss on the lips.

“Roommates?” Eddie asks, before Richie drags him by the hand out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, Shannon and Leroy,” he says, leading Eddie back down the hall and through his bedroom door.

“The people you mentioned on stage,” Eddie remembers, looking around Richie’s bedroom.

It’s surprisingly bare, but he can see the outlines of where some things had been hanging on the wall. Eddie almost forgets what he’s here for when he thinks about giving the walls a good dusting. There’s more boxes in here as well, he can see clothes that have _not_ been folded correctly at all to maximise on space, and Eddie needs to bite his lip so he doesn’t say something about it.

“Those are the ones,” Richie says. He takes off his outer shirt, and then starts to lift the shirt underneath before stopping. “How do you want to do this? Fast or slow? I am a-okay with whatever you want to do!”

“Even nipple torture?”

Richie looks flustered at that, and Eddie starts laughing. “Well, unless _you_ have any nipple clamps in your fanny pack…”

Eddie starts searching through it, then gives up and sighs. “Shit, I left my travel sized nipple clamps in my other fanny pack.”

“What a shame,” Richie smirks, watching Eddie unbuckle the fanny pack from his waist and setting it down on his chest of drawers. When Eddie takes his suit jacket and tie off, starting on his button up, Richie pulls his shirt off eagerly, letting it fall to the floor.

Eddie takes his time. He puts his jacket on the back of the chair by his desk. He puts his tie around the door handle. He folds his shirt carefully, just like they do in the shops, placing it beside his fanny pack on the drawers. And then, _then_ , he takes off his pants, delicately draping them over his jacket on the chair. When Richie realises that the whole process is going to take a while, he climbs onto his bed and watches him, arms behind his head.

“ _Eduardo_ , come on,” Richie finally groans. “I could have run off with your mom, shown her the good time I was intending on giving you, and then run all the way back here in the time it takes for you fold all your fucking clothes.”

Eddie pauses, now down to his underwear, one knee on the bed. “My mom’s dead.”

“What? Shit, sorry man, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re a fucking necrophiliac,” Eddie says, crawling up the bed. He sits himself down Richie’s still clothed lap. Richie starts running his hands up and down Eddie’s side, grinning, while Eddie splays his fingers across Richie’s chest, feeling the coarse hair there. “That’s fucking gross, dude.”

“Is this your idea of dirty talk?” Richie asks, eyebrow raised.

“You’re the one who brought up fucking my mother.”

“Hey, I’m all about showing people a good time,” Richie says, propping himself up on his elbows, so the angle is better when Eddie leans down to kiss him. “So, what do you wanna do?” He asks, a little breathless when Eddie breaks away.

It’s only a little after midnight, Eddie thinks. “I kinda just want to make out for a little while.”

“That sounds great! I’m totally down for making out with a hot guy, have you seen any around?” Richie smirked, Eddie just answering with a kiss.

Eddie touches Richie’s face, feeling the stubble. It’s a bit weird, he hasn’t felt any in a long while, and he likes to keep his own face clean shaven. He moves his hands down Richie’s neck: it feels sinewy and he _clearly_ doesn’t moisturise. Eddie breaks the kiss for a moment, taking a breath before moving his hands down further, down Richie’s deliciously broad shoulders and the tops of his arms.

Richie doesn’t have much muscle, but it feels like he’d have enough to throw Eddie around a bit, and that gives him a thrill as he grinds his hips down into Richie’s. He runs his hands back over Richie’s chest, his hair here seemingly as curly as what’s on his head.

“Mm, if you just want to kiss all night, I’m happy with that,” Richie says, after a while.

“No, no, I still want the sex,” Eddie replies, pausing as he thinks on what to say next. “I meant what I said earlier, it really has been a while since I last did this with anyone. I just want to enjoy the lead up to it as well, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Richie says quietly. “How long has it been?”

Eddie plays with a tuft of hair as he contemplates how honest he should be. “Two years.”

“Oh. Break up?”

“No. Uh, he died. Suddenly. Right after my mother did. He helped me plan her funeral, then two months later I was planning his.”

There’s a silent moment, before Richie clears his throat. “Hey, if you don’t wanna do this anymore, that’s fine.”

“No, sorry, that was way too much. There are friends I haven’t shared so much with. I still want to, I really want to. It’s time. I’m nervous as fuck, but I’m just about ready to dive into the deep end, ya know?” Eddie doesn’t say it out loud, but he likes the thought that maybe Daniel is cheering him on from the afterlife.

“I know. That’s okay. We’ll go at your pace, yeah? I mean, I’m just excited to get laid, but at your pace, and whatever you want to do.”

Eddie snorts, then swings a leg over so he’s no longer in Richie’s lap. “You absolute people pleaser. Come on, let’s get these off,” he says, already undoing the buttons on Richie’s jeans.

They’re shucked off quickly, and then Eddie is back on him, kissing and grinding their growing erections together. Richie moans beneath him, and Eddie really likes that sound, and keeps grinding until they’re both hard and straining in their underwear.

“I’m gonna come if we keep doing this, Eds,” Richie pants. “Unless you wanna come in your underwear?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose at the thought. “Ew, no.”

“Well, then, how do you wanna do this, then? You wanna top, or bottom? Jerk each other off? Hell, I’ll keep talking about your dead mom if that’s what you’re into,” Richie gives a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“ _Beep beep_ , Richie,” Eddie says. The words come quickly from his mouth, and he’s not sure why he’s said it, but it also shuts Richie up. It’s a confusing moment for both of them. As Eddie tries to think on why he said it, a headache quickly comes on, and he pinches the bridge of his nose at the sudden pain.

“Sorry. You okay?”

Eddie takes a deep breath, sighing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he quickly decides not to think about it. “I’ll, uh, I’ll bottom. And let’s _not_ keep talking about my dead mom. She’d be rolling in her grave if she knew what I was up to.”

“Alright, cool! Um, why don’t I go grab a towel? Keep things… _clean_ for ya,” Richie says, giving Eddie’s butt cheeks a squeeze before he moves off.

Eddie lies down for a moment, his heart beating a million times per minute, but he feels _good_ , and that’s something he hasn’t felt in a while. He rubs his eyes, wondering how he got into this situation. He doesn’t do anything like _this_.

He pulls his underwear off, feeling some relief from the constraint, and folds them, putting it on the dresser with his other clothes. He can hear Richie pulling open boxes and grumbling to himself as he searches.

“I really wasn’t meaning to bring anyone over,” Richie calls out. “The box with my clean towels is around here somewhere…”

“Guess I’m just special,” Eddie replies. He lies back down, one arm behind his head, and he gives himself a few lazy tugs as he waits.

“Aha! There you fuckers are!” Richie comes back a moment later, towel in hand, pausing at the foot of the bed as he sees Eddie slowly jerking himself. “Get impatient?”

“Just a tad,” Eddie says, cheeks already flushed. He stops as he watches Richie pull his own underwear off, trying to not let the fact that he just leaves it on the floor bother him.

“Uh, what position-?” Richie asks awkwardly, laying the towel down.

“How about you just stretch me first, and then we’ll figure that out,” Eddie says, already knowing what he wants to do, rolling over onto it.

When Richie doesn’t say anything for a while, Eddie goes to turn back over to see what the hold-up is. For a moment, he has his hands to his face, together and pointed like he’s praying, just staring at his backside. A hand reaches out quickly to his thigh, gently holding Eddie in place.

“What-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold the fucking phone, Eds,” Richie says, his eyes still firmly on Eddie’s ass.

“Don’t call me Eds,” he mutters.

“Now that is a truly _beautiful_ ass! I have died and gone to heaven! I’m a believer, now, Eddie! I can see the face of the Lord in your-”

“ _Shut the fuck up, you motherfucker, or I’m fucking out of here._ ”

Richie just about doubles over laughing. “I’m just trying to give you a compliment, Eds!” He leans forward, grabbing a handful of each cheek. “You moisturise everywhere, huh?”

“Beep beep, Richie. And don’t call me Eds.”

“Fine, fine. Mm, I could eat this ass for dinner. May I?” The look on Richie’s face makes Eddie blush.

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” He mutters, just about thrown off by the whole idea. “Why the fuck would you want to eat my ass?”

“Because it looks so tempting and delicious! Like, you know, an apple.”

“An apple? My ass isn’t gonna taste like a fucking apple, Jesus fucking Christ…”

“Fine, fine, no eating of your very tempting and delicious looking ass, I got it. A shame for me, though, truly. Please do send me a message if you are interested in the future. I _will_ drop everything, even your mom-”

“ _Beep beep_ , Richie.”

“Yes, okay. Can I at least give your cheeks a little nibble, though? Pretty please?”

“That still sounds fucking weird, but fine,” Eddie concedes.

Richie gives each cheek another squeeze before letting go, sounding truly mournful as he does so, and reaches over to his bedside table. He rummages through the drawer for a moment before taking out a bottle of lube and a condom.

“I, uh, haven’t done this bit in a while. Not with another person at least,” Eddie says, feeling a bit nervous.

“Duly noted. I’ll go nice and slow for ya.”

Eddie hums in response, and winces a little at the cold lube as Richie pours a generous amount just above his entrance. The tip of a finger circles around his entrance before slowly being pushed in, and he lets out a huff of breath.

“You good?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, just kind of feels like I got a finger in my ass.”

Richie goes slow, as promised, one hand massaging his side as he relaxes, keeping his finger crooked so it gently rubs against Eddie’s prostate. He’s soon letting out small sounds, not quite moans, but certainly appreciative in nature.

“Another,” Eddie says, and he feels a touch more lube and another finger going in with the first.

It’s not uncomfortable with Richie taking his time, gradually scissoring him open. Eddie asks him to speed things up a bit, his hips rolling into Richie’s fingers. He feels Richie’s lips pressing small kisses onto his back as a third finger is added, and then they’re all constantly on his prostate as they move in and out. It feels fucking _amazing_ , Eddie moaning and squirming under Richie’s ministration, rubbing himself against the towel.

“Stop, _stop_ ,” Eddie manages, breathing hard.

“Did I hurt you?” Richie asks, concerned, lifting his head from where he’s been nibbling at Eddie’s left cheek.

“No, god no, that feels fucking great, I just, if you keep that up I’m gonna come,” Eddie says, panting. He lifts his hips up, a small pool of semen already gathered on the towel beneath him.

“Kinda looks like you already did,” Richie says, sounding mighty proud of himself already. He pulls his fingers out of Eddie’s hole, admiring the way it’s slow to close.

“I haven’t,” Eddie assures him.

“But it seems like I could make you come from just my fingers,” Richie offers, and the look on his face makes Eddie burst out laughing.

“Maybe next time. Come on, I’m ready,” Eddie says, feeling impatient. He’s getting to his knees when he feels Richie grab at his hips. “Lie the fuck down, _I’m_ on top.”

“Yes, sir,” Richie says with a salute, sitting back for a moment as Eddie gets up.

Eddie is a bit wobbly, so they switch positions quickly. He puts the condom on Richie, the size of his dick not looking too formidable as slathers on more lube. When he’s satisfied with the amount, he swings his leg over, and lines Richie’s cock up with his entrance, slowly taking in the head.

Below him, Richie starts humming something familiar, but Eddie can’t quite figure out what it is.

“What the fuck are you-”

“ _Y’all ready for this?_ Dun dun dun dun,” Richie says, continuing humming the rest of the Space Jam song, even dancing a bit with his arms and bobbing his head.

Eddie bursts out laughing, and before he knows it, he’s sunk all the way down, a small but pleasant ache filling him. “What in the actual _fuck_ , Richie?” He manages in between wheezes and coughs.

“Space Jam is my favourite movie. I had a signed poster framed just above my bed here,” Richie informs him, giving the bare wall a slap, and goes right back to humming and dancing with his upper body. “I also had posters of Sunspot and Rictor from X-Men over there.”

“Are you actually a five-year-old? I should leave then, in that case,” Eddie starts easing himself up, then Richie’s hands are on his hips, not forcing him back down, but certainly keeping him still. “Why am I having sex with you? You’re a fucking weirdo.”

“Actually, _you’re_ the one fucking the weirdo! Hey, oh!” Richie puts his hand up for a high five.

“That’s the lamest fucking joke you’ve made all night,” Eddie laughs, but he still gives Richie the high five with a smile. When Richie goes back to his humming, Eddie finds himself joining in too, much to his amusement. “Sunspot and Rictor, huh? Sounds like a type. I was more into Nightcrawler and Jean Grey.”

"Type?" Richie says, eyebrows knitting together as he thinks, then they relax and he laughs. "Oh. Yeah. Maybe I do." 

Eddie stays still for a few moments, while he hums and laughs, just getting used to the feeling of Richie inside him. Soon, though, he starts making small movements in time with the song, and he realises that sex might just be like riding a bike. Including the part where it hurts just a bit after not doing it for a while.

He can feel a tingle in his thighs already from their odd placement and movement as he slowly starts moving his way up and down. There’s the general ache of having something inside him after not having much besides his own fingers, but he was expecting that. He stops and starts a few times, trying to find the right angle.

“You look like you're concentrating real hard,” Richie says, already sounding out of breath. He’s got his hands splayed around the junction between his thighs and cheeks, massaging and gently guiding.

“Yeah, ah, just trying to find the right- _ah_ , there we go.” Eddie manages to find his prostate, leaning over Richie, hands bracing themselves on his upper chest, fingers tangling in some hair. He starts moving a bit faster, his cock rubbing against Richie’s abdomen.

He leans all the way down, gives Richie a hard kiss that seems to be mostly teeth.

“You could do some fucking work here, you know,” Eddie says, as they breathe hotly into each other’s mouths. Normally the thought of that would gross him the fuck out, but doesn’t mind it so much now.

Richie plants his feets and moves his legs up, so he can start thrusting his hips upwards, following Eddie’s pace as they start meeting in the middle. The sound of their skin meeting and their panting breaths makes Eddie realise just how much he fucking missed sex, the closeness it brings. The sweat, though, he doesn’t miss so much.

“Is it good? You close?” Richie asks after a while.

Eddie’s started stuttering in his movements, he can feel it all building up, his balls beginning to tighten as he feels his orgasm nearing. “Yeah, fucking touch me already, .”

Richie moves a hand to Eddie’s neglected cock, and speeds up his movements to match with Eddie. They’re a flurry of movements, Eddie’s bouncing on Richie’s cock becoming faster and faster, ignoring the cramping in his thighs the longer he keeps going. Eddie ignores it, keeps going, faster, until-

“ _Ah, ah, ah-_ ” Eddie holds his breath as he comes hard. He keeps moving on Richie’s cock, doesn’t tell Richie to stop moving his hand as long white strips of come splash across his chest. “Oh, my god,” he finally breathes, swatting Richie’s hand away.

He keeps going on Richie though, who paused, but now gets the picture, meeting his hard thrusts, until Richie gives a few final slams. Richie groans, keeping his hips flush against Eddie’s until he finally relaxes.

“Oh, my god,” Richie reiterates, taking his glasses off. He wipes sweat from his forehead, both of them panting hard.

Eddie keeps grinding for a bit, grinning, enjoying the feeling for a little while longer, until he feels the tell-tale wheeze from within his lungs. He gets off slowly, Richie’s spent dick slipping out, and he crawls his shaky body to the side of the bed so he can reach his fanny pack. He retrieves his inhaler, and then lies back down next to Richie, taking a few deep puffs.

“That was… _good_ ,” Richie says, breathing heavily.

“That was _great_ ,” Eddie wheezes. He feels happy and relaxed, and blissed the fuck out. He gives Richie a few slaps to the lower stomach. “Good fucking work, champ.”

“Thanks,” Richie laughs. “You okay?”

“It’s just asthma, I’ll be fine,” Eddie says, taking a few deep breaths. He tugs on the towel, and Richie lifts his lips so he can pull it out, stuffing it beneath his own hips. He doesn’t plan on moving for a few minutes at least.

Richie takes the condom off, tying the end up and chucking it into a nearby bin.

“You wanna stay the night?” Richie asks. “Fuck, you’re invited to stay the entire weekend, I kinda don’t want to leave this bed.”

“That’s gonna be a pretty hefty bill, buddy,” Eddie says, taking another impatient puff.

“Wait, are you actually-”

“No, I’m a risk analyst. I’m not a prostitute.”

“Okay, good, because I don’t have any cash on me.”

They both chuckle a bit, but otherwise there’s a few silent minutes.

“I’d like to. Stay the weekend,” Eddie says, rolling onto his side.

“Cool,” Richie replies quietly.

Eddie runs a hand through Richie’s slightly curly, very sweaty hair as he leans down to kiss him. They lazily make out for a while, and Eddie thinks about how much he missed this part, too. He doesn’t panic about the sweat or the mess he’s left on Richie’s chest just yet.

“That was some of the best sex I’ve ever had,” Eddie compliments.

“Is what I said to your mom when I dug her up this morning! Hey, oh!” Richie holds his hand up again for another high five, and laughs as Eddie hits him with his own pillow.

“I’m gonna go take a shower. Where’s your box of towels? I’m not using the one covered in fucking lube,” Eddie says, already walking a little bow legged as he heads for the door.

“It’s the only open one in the hall,” Richie tells him, using the towel to clean off Eddie’s cooling spunk. “Do you always come this much? Also, did I already tell you about how absolutely divine your ass is?”

Eddie flips him off as he leaves the room. When he comes back, clean as a whistle, he puts on the shirt Richie throws at him. It has a picture of a cute turtle on it, because of course it does. It’s comfortable, though, and after they slip under the blanket, they make out for a little while longer before they both start yawning.

“Hey, um, if you’re up for it, I’ve been meaning to get back at my roommates for this thing for a while,” Richie says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“Like a prank?”

“Uh, yeah, kinda. Like, a few times a month they like to wake me up to their very loud married lovemaking and I would love to get back at them just once, ya know?”

Eddie snorts. “I don’t think I’m up for anal for a while, but sure, I can put on a performance.”

Richie smirks as he leans over to his bedside to his bedside table to turn off the light. “It’ll be my turn, anyway. Big spoon or little spoon?”

“Well, I’m not going backpacking any time soon.”

He sighs as he feels a hairy arm snake around his middle as he starts to drift off, and Eddie realises that he missed this part most of all. After Daniel’s death, he had to learn to sleep by himself again. That came after the grief and the crying and the nightmares, though. He liked having someone nearby, liked the reassurance as he slept.

***~.~***

Eddie’s the first to wake in the morning, and when he hears the gentle snoring in his ear he briefly wonders if he’s home again. Then he rolls over, and that’s definitely not Daniel’s face, but it’s still a very nice one.

As promised, he helps Richie to give the performance of a lifetime. Sinking into Richie, who’s on all fours on the bed while he stands behind him, at first makes Eddie want to shoot off like a rocket, but he manages to get a hold of himself. He makes sure that it’s good for Richie, even with the fake loud moans that he’s sure that even the neighbours can hear.

“Oh my _god_ , Eds! Yes, right there! Oh, you’re so good at fucking me, Eds!” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, then changes the angle a bit, and Richie quiets for a moment, letting out only a few soft sounds.

“Holy shit, Eds, you’re actually- _oh_ , okay, yeah, that’s really- _unh_ , harder-”

Eddie smirks, doing as he’s instructed, and Richie’s moans pick up again, though mostly sounds than words. He may be a little rusty, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. 

Richie starts shaking beneath him, a few moments later lowering his front half down like Eddie is slowly draining all the energy from him. Then Richie’s making some very satisfied noises, both hands fisting the sheets, and he’s clenching hard around Eddie as he shakes, then relaxing. 

Eddie finishes not long after, and they both collapse in a heap on the bed.

“Ed’s gets off a good one,” Richie mumbles into his pillow. “I haven’t gotten off like that… in a while. That was _great_!”

Eddie just grins, puffing and panting and red all over. He forgets that he needs his puffer.

***~.~***

They spend the day in bed, as Richie promised, which normally Eddie would hate, but he found himself enjoying the day just lounging in his underwear and getting to know Richie a bit. The photos of Richie’s frosted tips are found, Eddie laughing the second he sees them.

When they try to discuss their childhoods, however, they both come down with terrible headaches, and Eddie thinks it might be because they’ve barely eaten all day.

They order Chinese for dinner and watch SNL. They make out again before going to sleep, and then in the morning they’re woken up by some very loud moaning from Shannon. Eddie and Richie share a look before deciding to join in on the competition, and give each other some very enthusiastic hand jobs.

The shirt with the turtle on it is thoroughly ruined by the event, and Eddie is thoroughly exhausted from the amount of sex he’s had this weekend.

Eddie finally leaves in the mid-afternoon on Sunday. He and Richie share another heated kiss by the door, and he internally debates on whether or not to give his number to Richie. He decides against it, though. While this little sexcapade was fun, and something he needed to do, he’s also looking forward to seeing Myra tomorrow.

He thinks about the encounter constantly over the next few days, but then, slowly, it all slips from his mind. 

He wonders where he left his fanny pack.

He asks Myra out a few weeks later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is the chapter I'm most excited about, as the things I've been sprinkling in over the past four have finally culminated here!
> 
> Some patch notes:
> 
> The chapter count has gone down! This isn't because I've deleted or changed anything, I just miscounted the chapters I thought I had. That's me being a silly duffer.
> 
> Also: added a small conversation, about three lines, to the previous chapter. Nothing consequential, if you don't want to go back and read. Just something I forgot to add between the few drafts I have around.
> 
> Anyways, that's it! Please enjoy! This chapter includes homophobia, abuse of power and the beginnings of alcoholism, as stated in the tags. The next chapter also deals with some alcoholism. None of these topics are delved into too deeply, but they're always alluded to/heavily implied. If any of this is triggering, you may need to stop here, and I completely understand. Thank you for sticking with it so far, I genuinely hope you enjoyed your time here :)

**March, 2008**

“Mr. Tozier, could you take a step to the right, please?”

Richie hums in response, but he’s not really listening. He’s reading through the script for his set again, and he’s hating every single fucking line of it. None of it makes sense in his head, but he’s a good enough actor for it to do so once it leaves his mouth. 

Richie wants to punch the writer in his stupid fucking face. And then he wants to punch his manager in his stupid fucking face as well.

“Mr. Tozier?”

“What?” Richie finally looks up, staring at the lighting guy off in the wings.

“A step to the right, please.”

Richie does as he’s asked, dragging the stool with him. The spotlight now shines directly on him, and the majority of the theatre is washed away as he’s blinded. He blinks and puts up a hand to cover his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. I love not being able to see any of the audience,” Richie says, loud enough for the lighting guy to hear. The spotlight dims a bit, and he can see down into the first few rows. He prefers not being able to see most of the people anyway, it’s better for his anxiety. “That’s good for me. How’s it looking for you?”

“It’s good, Mr. Tozier,” the lighting guy says, and Richie can finally leave the stage.

The lighting guy is pretty cute, Richie sees as he passes by. Dark brown hair, gorgeous brown eyes that are _to die for_ , and just that little bit shorter than him. He quickly stops and reverses so he can get his flirt on.

“Hey, please call me Richie. Mr. Tozier is my father.” Richie holds his hand out for the lighting guy to take, and he can just about make out the blush on his cheeks, despite the dim lighting of backstage.

“Okay, _Richie_ ,” the lighting guy says, smiling and shaking his hand. “I’m Pedro.”

“Hello, _Pedro_ ,” Richie says, leaning in a little closer. “I love the way you roll your _‘R’_ s. It’s a skill I never really developed.”

“I could teach you,” Pedro replies, and isn’t _that_ a lovely smile. Richie definitely wants to see more of that.

“What are you doing after the show? I’d love to get to know you better, over some drinks, maybe? You can really teach me to roll my _‘R’_ s.”

Before Pedro can reply, however, and Richie can just tell it’s going to be a positive reply, Jared comes barrelling in at the most inopportune moment. His manager always has perfect timing. He grabs Richie by the shoulder and starts yanking him further backstage, away from cute lighting guy Pedro.

“Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier is straight, Richie. Keep on brand, come on!” Jared huffs.

“Fuck the brand, Jared, I have needs!” Richie rolls his eyes, wriggling free from Jared’s grip. He looks back at Pedro. “Meet me in my dressing room after the show.”

“Do _not_ come to the dressing room later!” Jared just about shouts at the guy.

As soon as his back is turned, Richie makes it very clear with several crude hand gestures that Pedro is still invited. He waves goodbye, Pedro laughing, and then turns to follow Jared through the backstage tunnels, picking up a bottle of water along the way, gifted by some anonymous intern. They finally come to a stop in his dressing room.

“Jared, I fucking hate this material, it sucks!” Richie crumples up the pages and throws it into a nearby bin for emphasis. “This is not what I signed up for. My material is so much better than this crap!”

“Your material doesn’t work out here, Richie. This isn’t your little bar in New York, this is the big leagues. Just stick to what I give you, okay?” Jared fishes the paper from the bin, smoothing it out and giving it a read. He laughs at it.

“The stuff you give me is literal garbage. My stuff could fucking work if you let me give it a chance. This is not what I worked my ass off for.” He snatches the paper from Jared, but doesn’t throw it back into the bin, just drops onto his chair.

“It doesn’t matter what you worked your ass off for,” Jared begins, walking over and towering over Richie as he sits. “I’ve meticulously crafted this brand of Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier to appeal to the masses, and not to the little gay niche you were in before.”

“But that’s where you found me! I was performing my own shit, and it was _good_. I connected with the people I was making laugh. It’s just so… impersonal now. And I fucking hate it.” Richie closes his eyes just so he doesn’t have to look at Jared, and starts tugging at his hair out of the stress of it all.

“Just read what I give you, okay? You don’t need to connect with the audience. You just need to make them laugh. That’s all they’re here for, and you will provide that service. And you want to provide that service to as many people as possible. Only gay people go to see gay comedians, and that’s not a big market.”

Jared’s making it sound like he’s on Richie’s side, but it’s just grinding at Richie’s gears.

“Now that is definitely not true. I had plenty of fans before who didn’t give a shit,” Richie says, frustrated.

“Don’t argue with me, Richie. Nobody’s gonna go see a gay comedian when they can just laugh at any gay guy in the street.”

Now that really fucking stings. Richie’s silent for a moment as he tries to process what he’s just heard. He can feel his nostrils flaring as he feels anger rising through him like heat, and he stands up so he can be the one towering over Jared.

“What the fuck, Jared?! Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my dressing room before I kick your fucking ass! You’re fired!” Richie points at the door, struggling not to make a fist out of his hand.

“You’re not gonna fire me,” Jared says, voice suddenly low. He doesn’t back down from Richie’s domineering stance, and Richie feels compelled to sit back down. Jared towers back over him, reasserting himself. He leans down close to whisper in his ear, hands on either side of Richie’s chair, caging him in. “And you wanna know why? Because I will make sure no one else will take you on, not after I get the word out. I discovered you, Rich, and I can put you back right where I found you. People come for your stage presence, not for your writing.”

Jared steps back, and takes a deep sigh. He gives Richie a few taps on the cheek, then keeps his hand there. “Show me some gratitude and a little respect, Richie. Shut the fuck up and perform what I give you.”

Richie’s still seething, his hand twitching, but he knows he can’t win this fight. It’s not worth it. He pulls away, puts his elbows on the table in front of the light-up mirror. He hunches himself down, subconsciously showing Jared he’s won.

“Good. Now, you’ve got a meet-and-greet in about,” Jared straightens himself, glances at his watch, “twenty minutes.”

Richie sits back up, staring at Jared through the mirror. “What? You didn’t tell me that?”

“I’m telling you now, Rich. Get your shit together, these people paid a lot of money to see you. It’s the lady’s birthday, make sure to give her a smile, okay?”

“I’m not some dancing clown,” Richie mutters, looking away.

“Yes you are, Rich. You’re in comedy. Now drink your water and calm the fuck down.” Jared gives him a final hard stare, then leaves the room, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

Richie sighs, his head falling onto his arms with a soft thud. He used to love this job, it was all he ever wanted to do. Now it just sits in his gut, like a hard stone of resentment. He doesn’t know what else he could do. Go back to bartending, maybe? He knows Shannon and Leroy would welcome him back with open arms, but they’ve long since fallen out of contact.

He doesn’t want to do that, though. He doesn’t want to give up, he’s worked far too hard to do that. So, he sits back up straight, and takes a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. God, he feels like crying.

Richie stands up, trying to distract himself so he doesn’t. He walks over to the coat rack to leaf through his jacket, pulls out his flask with the little turtle on it. A letter falls out – he’d forgotten it was there. 

He takes a sip from the flask; the bourbon doesn’t sting like it used to.

Richie bends down to pick up the letter, and walks back to his seat after putting the flask away.

He stares down at it, his name and address written in a neat, elegant script. He rips it open, and stares down at the same handwriting scrawled across the page. This isn’t fan mail, he can already tell.

_**Dear Richie,** _

_**Time for the yearly letter! I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your career, and I’m really so proud of how far you’ve come. I always knew you were destined for great things, and you’re out there doing them! I watch what I can, and you’re always very funny. I don’t understand the girlfriend jokes, though.** _

Richie wants to appreciate the sentiment, but he can’t. He’s not sure how to break the news to this guy that his career is mostly a sham at this point. The guilt quickly joins the resentment stone in his gut.

_**Things in Derry are as slow as ever. Harry, the Head Librarian, keeps promising to retire, but he stalls every year. As much as I love him, he’s nearing 80 and he needs to slow down.** _

Richie feels his eyes begin to swim as they cross the word ‘Derry’, and he feels a headache coming on, but he doesn’t feel physically able to stop reading. His eyes feel like they’re magnetized to the page.

_**I know I say this in every letter, but I miss you so damn much, Richie. You and all the other Losers. It’s a burden being the lighthouse keeper, but I remind myself that it’s so you guys can live and forget, and I’m happy to do that. It doesn’t keep the loneliness at bay, but I love you guys, and I’ll do what I need to for all of you.** _

_Forget? Forget what?_ Richie wonders. Somewhere deep in his mind, he can feel something cracking, but it doesn’t feel like anything is slipping through, yet. He feels the dread that something is about to, though.

_**Beverly just got married! She seems to be very happy, but I always worry about her. Her latest collection was recently shown in Vogue Italia, but I have no idea if that’s a big deal or not? Also, she designed a dress for someone at the Oscars this year, which I think must also a big deal.** _

_Beverly?_

A flash of red hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a smile to die for. An intense amount of love floods through his veins as Richie pictures her face.

_The walls are coming down_ , Richie realises.

_**Stanley just got a big promotion at his accounting firm. He’s been working so hard, he definitely deserves it. He and Patty have been trying for a baby, but it just doesn’t seem to be happening for them. Maybe it’s for the best.** _

Richie sees a man in a bathtub, and two bright, blood red letters painted on the tile behind him. He can feel his breath coming quicker as he’s finally able to focus and read what it says:

IT.

Richie’s eyes see the paper again as he hyperventilates. He can feel all his blood in all his veins, moving and pulsing. He can feel the bourbon in his stomach. He can feel the neurons firing in his head as he thinks.

_**Bill is writing so much now. I read every single one of his books as soon as we get them in the library. His writing really shows what the mind can hold on to, even when you think it’s let most of it go. I like the endings, even though I know they’re not good. I’m sure they’ll get better one day.** _

Bill Denbrough. The name pops into his head quickly, the cracks getting wider, more information slipping through. The famous author and, now, screenwriter. How could Richie so easily forget the name when he sees it everywhere?

_**Ben is doing great. He’s well on his way to becoming a senior partner in his architect firm. I’ve seen pictures of his work, and I’ve gotta say, he’s come a long way since the clubhouse. His buildings actually look structurally sound now, I’d definitely feel safe walking around in them.** _

Ben… right, Ben. He was a big kid, in love with Beverly and _New Kids on the Block_. The biggest hunk of love there ever was. He gave Richie the pep talk about X-Men, right before-

_**Eddie just got engaged! Myra is a lovely woman, from what Eddie has said, and he sounds like he’s really in love with her. I’m sorry if that’s not something you wanted to hear, if you remember anything. You didn’t realise, but how you both felt for each other was painfully obvious to the rest of us.** _

_**It seems like he’s found some happiness, and I really want that for you, as well. Hence the confusion about the girlfriend jokes.** _

_**I’ll leave it here, Richie. I eagerly await your confused reply.** _

_**Lots of love, and all the wishes for the best,** _

_**Mike** _

Richie can’t see anything anymore except for three startlingly bright balls of light, spinning rapidly right in front of his eyes. The past and the future collide in his mind. He tries to look around, and he sees Beverly, barely thirteen years old, suspended in the black space nearby.

They reach out to each other, but they can’t quite reach.

_Deadlights._

_I’m in the Deadlights._

Suddenly, he’s falling, and so is Beverly in the opposite direction, her mouth wide in a scream that doesn’t reach his ears. She and the Deadlights grow smaller as he falls further and further away, into the blackness of space, tiny pinpricks of stars and primordial light around him are all he can see.

Richie sees a turtle shell, and the sight is so odd that he forgets to keep falling. He stares at it, a yawn rattling through his mind as the turtle slowly pokes its head out, blinking at him warily.

_Hold on_ , Richie hears in his mind, and then the turtle retreats back into its shell, snoring gently.

“Wha-?” He looks down, and then he’s falling again, and Richie doesn’t get any time to process anything as he feels like he’s in the middle of a rushing river. 

It’s not made of water, though, but of time. Richie can see his own personal time stream, and it freaks him out _just_ a little. He can see everything from when he’s thirteen to the moment he enters the Deadlights, but nothing is linear. 

Beyond the Deadlights, as bright and blinding as they are, beyond what he can tell is the final fight, someone’s reaching for him, pulling him down. He can recognise the bar behind him, _Puzzles_. The features seem familiar, brown hair, deep brown eyes, but the finer details are all in shadow, obscured by the Deadlights. 

It has to be Eddie. 

It has to be the future.

He can feel himself screaming as he comes splashing down.

Richie’s now sitting across from Eddie in the middle of a restaurant. _Jade of the Orient_ , Richie knows, and then they’re grasping their hands together to arm wrestle. He tries to hold on, but the river rushes him through the moment.

He’s opening the door for Eddie at _Puzzles_. He can see lines just beginning to form in the corners of Eddie’s eyes. When they shake hands, Richie holds on so fucking tight, he doesn’t want to let go, but the river takes him again.

Richie’s standing in his dressing room. _Is it now?_ He wonders. _Or is it then, or is it soon?_ He can’t tell, but then Eddie is there, standing next to Myra, and Richie holds on for dear fucking life to Eddie’s hand, but the river is too strong.

Richie sits opposite on a couch from Eddie. He looks so young, Richie thinks, as they shake hands again. He tries to hold on, trying to ground himself in the moment, but the river sweeps him on.

Richie flirts with Eddie at the bar on his last night at _Puzzles_. Richie’s last proper stand-up gig before he fucked everything up by signing on with Jared. He holds on tight to Eddie’s poor hand, but the river doesn’t care.

Richie grabs hold of Eddie’s hand on the secluded path in Derry. _He looks so young_ , Richie thinks, and feels sad that they didn’t get to spend any of their early adult years together. He feels even sadder at the realisation that they only get fleeting moments together, nothing they can remember. 

The current of the river pulls him along before he can dwell on the thought too long.

He’s sitting on an airplane, and when he takes hold of Eddie’s hand again, he really digs his fingers in. Richie can feel himself sticking, and he holds on so fucking tightly he can see the pain in Eddie’s eyes. Richie slips a little further, and then it’s Eddie who’s grabbing onto _him_ , the plane starting to shake with the force they’re both using to hold on to one another.

Eddie looks at him, concerned, as Richie finds himself starting to slip into the current, but he fights tooth and nail to stay in one time for longer than a few seconds.

“Dude, are you okay?”

“Gazebos, Eds. It’s all a bunch of gazebos,” Richie mutters, the thoughts of past and future all mingling together in his head in an incoherent mess.

“Gazebos? What? Don’t call me Eds-”

The shaking of the plane becomes more violent, and Eddie squeezes his hand tighter, and the connection becomes clearer in Richie’s mind. The sparkling around the edges of his vision begin to fade away.

“Losers…” Richie grits out, trying to figure out who he is. “Pennywise… Let’s kill this fucking clown…”

“What the fuck are you muttering about?” Eddie asks, but it reaches Richie’s ears all garbled. This isn’t his time, Richie thinks, and he starts slipping again.

“We keep forgetting, Eds,” he manages. “We keep meeting and forgetting, and it fucking _hurts_.”

“What? Dude, you’re freaking me out.” Eddie lets go of his hand, but Richie just grabs hold of it again, tries to use the feeling of the pain and finger impressions on his skin as an anchor.

“I don’t want to keep forgetting, Eds,” Richie says, starting to cry. He can tell what Eddie must be thinking that he’s drunk or high as a kite. He feels himself slipping a bit more, his mind spinning as he fights to stay. “We were best friends, Eds, come on, don’t you remember?”

Eddie leans away, tries to get his hand back. “Stop, please, you’re scaring me.”

Richie needs him to remember, too. “Our hands! We’ve both got scars on our hands! Look, please!” Richie grabs hold of Eddie’s other hand, turning it upwards to reveal the scar. Richie shows him his.

“Richie, what the fuck?” Eddie pulls his hand away.

“Spaghetti…” Richie mutters to himself, his head now hurting like a motherfucker. “We don’t have much time, Eds. Fuck, my head feels like it’s about explode, fucking hell.” When he closes his eyes, he can see the three orbs of Deadlights descending towards him again. “I’m stuck in the Deadlights…”

“Deadlights?”

“Yes, fuck. Look, what year is this? I keep… _argh_ , fucking slipping!” Richie knows how much he’s hurting Eddie to keep from washing away, but he can’t help it. He’s not sure if the wetness he feels between their hands is sweat or blood.

“It’s 2011. August 21st, 2011,” Eddie says weakly.

“Okay. Eddie, I know it’s hard, but you need to listen to me, please,” Richie leans into Eddie’s personal space, grabbing his head with one hand. “In five years, Mike is going to call us back to Derry.”

“Derry?” Eddie grimaces at the word, a hand going to his forehead.

“Yeah, Derry. It wakes up. Pennywise wakes up. I’m stuck in the Deadlights right now, but I don’t think we’re going to have much time after I come out of them. I’m so fucking terrified right now, and I know you are, too, but you’re braver than you think, Eds. I promise you that. _You_ make _me_ braver.”

Eddie’s eyes betray his discomfort at their closeness, but it’s the only thing keeping Richie here right now. He leans his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie mumbles with a huff of laughter.

“We’ve got a few shitty years ahead of us, but after It, I think we’ve got a good future, Eds. Just you and me.” He tenderly strokes at Eddie’s cheek, expecting to feel a bandage, but it’s just smooth, shaven skin.

Richie tries seeing further than the Deadlights, but he can’t. It’s too bright. But it shines down on everything before it. 

He and Beverly, two ends of the river.

“You’re really fucking drunk right now,” Eddie breathes, “so am I.” He tries to lean further away, but he’s already against the window.

“I love you so fucking much, Eddie,” Richie says quietly, so close now he can see the shine of tears in Eddie’s eyes.

“We’ve known each other for, like, an hour,” Eddie replies weakly. “Please get off me, I have a wife that I… I love very much. I’m not a cheater.”

Richie feels the frustration of staying, so he just closes his eyes, keeping their foreheads connected. “We’ve known each other for so much longer than that. You just can’t remember right now. We grew up together, we were best friends. I loved you then, and I still do, even if I keep forgetting. No one ever compared to you.”

“Richie…” Eddie whispers, his voice cracking. Richie’s not sure if it’s the Deadlight’s making Eddie’s eyes shine or if it’s something else. “I’m sorry. I... _don’t_ … I don’t remember.”

Richie shakes, trying to keep his crying under control. Everything is a fucking whirlwind, and he’s growing dizzy from the intensity of it all. He wasn’t expecting this little jaunt through space and time when he read Mike’s letter.

“That’s okay, Eds. I mean, it fucking hurts, but it’s… it’s okay.” Richie taps furiously at the call button, then as soon as the flight attendant arrives, a smile plastered on her face, Richie asks, “Can I get a pen and some paper, please? It’s important.”

It’s a weird request, Richie knows, but he needs them. Needs to write a note. Needs to do _something_. Needs to try and change... When she comes back, placing the pen and small notepad on the tray table, he keeps his left hand on Eddie, his anchor. He scribbles quickly, then tears off the paper, holds it tightly in his fist as he starts to feel faint. 

_Find Stanley Uris. He’ll die in September 2016 if you don’t. Also get rid of Jared, he’s a dick and you’ll be better off for it._

Richie should probably put it in a safer place, but he can’t really think properly right now.

The Deadlights start overtaking his vision, but he looks back at Eddie, tries to stay focused on his face.

“I’m really sorry I don’t remember, Richie,” Eddie tells him, and he can hear how apologetic he sounds.

“It’s okay, Eds. You will. Just… just five more years, okay?” Richie feels like he’s about to pass out, his head slipping down to Eddie’s shoulder. “I don’t want to forget. I hate forgetting.”

“Richie…”

“Spaghetti.”

Richie gets swept away into the river again. He floats, helpless, nothing else to hold on to, and then he’s drifting upwards. Back past the turtle, now eating- what _was_ it eating? Bright, multi-coloured discs of light?

“ARE YOU REALLY TRYING TO KEEP US TIED TOGETHER LIKE A PAIR OF FUCKING DOGS?” Richie shouts on his way past, and he hears it start to laugh and then to cough as it begins to choke. Back up to Beverly and the Deadlights. They try to reach out to each other again, but then she starts fading into darkness, then nothing.

Everything gets pulled back behind the wall, the cracks seal over, and it’s like the little jaunt through space and time never happened.

***~.~***

The sound of knocking wakes Richie up with a jolt. He sits up, the letter falling to the ground from his lap. He picks it up, making a mental note to read it later, and puts it on the table. A few more sharp knocks and he’s rising from his seat, heading quickly to the door.

Jared’s on the other side, along with another man and woman. The people who paid for the meet-and-greet, Richie assumes. The woman looks especially excited, a wide smile on her pretty face, while the man, very handsome, doesn’t look nearly as such. Richie quickly puts on his professional smile.

“Hi there!” He holds out his hand towards the woman.

“Richie, this is Myra,” Jared says, tilting his head in her direction.

Myra takes his hand, shaking it.

“And this is Eddie,” Jared tilts his head the other way.

Richie shakes his hand too, but then his fingers clamp down around Eddie’s palm, and Eddie’s returning grip is just as painful as he assumes his is. Eddie looks at him with confused expression as he tries to pull his hand away, but can’t. Richie scratches at his head, feeling an itch.

“Do I know you, or something?” Richie asks, trying to keep his tone casual as he struggles to unclench his hand.

“No-” Eddie grunts, but then Richie feels his hand release, and they both stagger backwards.

Jared glares at Richie, then gives a laugh. “Sorry about Richie, he’s a bit of a joker!”

Richie gives an awkward laugh as well, hoping his expression says ‘ _you got me!_ ’, and Myra laughs as well. He lets them inside his dressing room, and Jared leaves them to it.

“I’m Richie,” he says to the two of them.

“Oh, I know! I’m such a huge fan,” Myra says, the biggest smile on her face. “Eddie doesn’t really know who you are, but he got us tickets for my birthday.”

“That’s nice of you,” Richie tells him, noticing Eddie nursing his hand. He can see red welts from where his fingers dug in, and he’s sure he’s got matching impressions from how his hand still smarts.

Eddie gives Myra a fond smile.

“Happy birthday!” Richie says quickly, looking back to Myra.

“Thank you.” Myra’s smile could just about compete with the sun. “I’ve been a fan of yours since your _Puzzles_ days. I’m so glad you’ve finally made it back to New York, I’ve been waiting for years!”

Richie’s heart just about falls at her words. He knows anyone who enjoyed his stuff before is going to be disappointed with what it’s become. None of it is him, anymore.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been meaning to come back for a while, now. Really get back to my roots, y’know?” _See, Jared? Not just for the gays._ “What else have you been doing for your birthday?”

“Well, we just had a romantic picnic in Central Park, where Eddie gave me _this_ ,” Myra holds up her hand, showing off her engagement ring. Her smile is somehow brighter than before. “He proposed a month ago, but the ring just got back from being resized.”

“Damn, that’s a nice rock,” Richie says, gently taking hold of her hand to look at the ring closer. He can just about hear Jared’s scream of _TOO FUCKING GAY, RICHIE_. “And you took her to see my show afterwards?” He looks down at Eddie with an amused face. “You really know how to up the ante, buddy.”

Myra laughs, and Richie feels like it’s the first genuine one he’s earned in a while. He feels like he can breathe again at the sound.

“I know! What do I have to do for his birthday now?”

“Yeah, Eds, what does she have to do now? How exactly do you top getting that hunk of rock and coming to my show?”

“Yeah, Eds!” Myra’s laughing, and it’s the nicest damn sound Richie’s heard in awhile. He wants to keep making her laugh, but there’s some genuine anxiety building in his gut about what her response is going to be towards the show.

“How am I getting ganged up on right now?” Eddie questions, looking between the two of them amused, hands up in mock surrender.

“It’s because you make it so easy, honey!” Myra has a wicked glint in her eye as she kisses him on the cheek.

Richie watches how they look and the way they interact with each other, and it puts an ache in his chest that he’s not entirely sure shouldn’t be there. They look at each other with so much love, and Richie doesn’t think he’s ever really felt that. He makes a mental note to make sure to get Pedro’s number later, Jared be damned.

“So, how did you guys meet?” Richie asks. He’s not sure where to go with this meet-and-greet, but Eddie and especially Myra seem nice, and he’d like to get to know them a bit.

“Well, Eddie and I work at the same insurance firm. Our cubicles used to be right across from each other when we were junior risk analysts. We were friends for about a year before we started dating. Now we’re both-”

“Intermediate risk analysts,” Eddie finishes for her. He has a bashful smile on his face as he draws an arm around Myra’s waist.

“That was in early 2003, wasn’t it honey?” Myra asks, looking at Eddie. He nods. “It wasn’t until February in 2004 when we started dating, though. Our first date was nearly your last show at _Puzzles_.”

“Nearly?”

“Well, I’d been going to _Puzzles _for a few months at that point, to the comedy nights, and I’d finally gotten up the nerve to invite Eddie along. But then I got nervous and put my foot in my mouth, and said a group of us were going. I didn’t get a chance to tell him that wasn’t how I meant for the night to go though, before he went home.”__

__“Oh, that’s- that’s a shame,” Richie says. “I remember that gig, it was a really good night.” It had been a good night. The last one he had in awhile. He runs a hand nervously through his hair, a bell sounding in the distance. “Ah, that would be the signal that the show’s about to start.”_ _

__“Great! We’ll be in front row seats. I’m so happy to be seeing you on a much bigger stage, Richie. It was really nice meeting you, thank you so much.” Myra disentangles herself from Eddie, and engulfs him in a hug before he can say anything._ _

__“Yeah, thank you,” Eddie says._ _

__“Wow, you give good hugs,” Richie says, patting her back awkwardly._ _

__“Hey, she’s my fiancé.” Eddie steps a bit closer, but there’s no real bite to his word. Richie thinks he just likes saying _fiancé_ , which is fair enough, he supposes._ _

__“Eddie, honey, he’s gay!” Myra tells him, giving him an eye roll when she breaks away from Richie._ _

__“Oh, okay.”_ _

__“Don’t let my manager hear you say that,” Richie says, his tone light, but the message entirely not so. He gives Eddie another handshake as there’s another knock on the door, and Jared enters._ _

__“Happy birthday again, Myra. I really hope you enjoy the show.” He tries to look like he means it, but he’s not sure if it works or not. He knows he’s going to disappoint her._ _

__Myra’s smile falters for a moment as she reads his face, but otherwise doesn’t make any comments. Richie waves at them as Jared leads them away._ _

***~.~***

__As Richie waits for his cue in the wings, he can see Myra and Eddie sitting in the front row. He’s changed into a suit; a far cry from the dorky combination of print shirt and whatever garish over shirt he decided to pair it with that day. He feels the stone of guilt rolling around in his gut as he looks at her excited face._ _

__Finally, he hears his cue: “ _Ladies and gentlemen, your entertainment for this evening – Richie Tozier!_ ”_ _

__Richie walks out, a hand waving to the crowd as he goes. The applause is thunderous in his ears as he finally reaches the stool in the middle of the stage, and he takes a sip of water as he waits for it to die down. He smiles out at the audience, looking around despite the fact he can’t really see them._ _

__“How’s everyone doing tonight!”_ _

__More cheers. Richie gives them another wave. He’s a professional. He knows how to do this._ _

__“Now, before we get started tonight, I just want to give a quick shout out to a special lady in the front row. Happy birthday, Myra!”_ _

__Eddie looks like he wants to shrink into the seat from embarrassment, one hand covering his face, while Myra blushes but otherwise looks like she takes the applause well. She looks up at him, smiling, looking like she’s looking forward to what’s about to happen._ _

__Richie fucking hates himself for the disappointment he’s about to give her._ _

__He launches into his first joke, an anecdote about a girl he recently started dating, and the big surprise he discovered that she didn’t shave. It gets a big guffaw from the rest of the audience, but as he looks down at Myra, he sees the confused look on her face._ _

__As the next joke fails to land with her, he sees Eddie lean across and whisper into her ear. She gives a shrug at whatever he said, and then whispers something back._ _

__It’s probably the most disappointing hour of her life, and it’s through great perseverance Richie doesn’t let it show on his face. He gets through the set, trying to avoid looking at her face, but sometimes he just can’t help it. She looks more and more upset each time he looks at her. This is not what she was expecting._ _

__The two of them give a very half-hearted applause when it’s over, and Richie leaves the stage maybe a little faster than he should._ _

__He makes up some excuse for Pedro; he doesn’t feel like he deserves anything good after that shit show. He goes back to his hotel room and promptly drinks himself to sleep._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**August, 2011**

Eddie’s cab pulls up outside of LAX, but he doesn’t notice for a few moments. He’s been on the phone with Myra for at least ten minutes now, trying to reassure her that he was going to be safe on the plane ride home. He’s gone over the statistics with her, but it doesn’t seem to be getting into her head that he’s going to be safe.

“Myra – I’m at the airport. I have to hang up.” He opens the cab door, gives the driver some cash before he hauls his suitcase out with him.

It makes Myra change her tune, though. “Eddie, make sure to call me as soon as you can!”

Eddie looks around to see where he needs to go, only half paying attention to what his wife is saying. “Yes, dear. Of course.” He starts charging in the direction the signs tell him.

“Make sure to take your Valium, you know how much flying scares you!”

Eddie gets a little anxious about flying. Like, the right amount of anxious. He never really thought it was enough to warrant medication, but then Myra had slowly put the thought in his head that it was. He sighs as he finally gets in line.

“Yes, dear. I’ll take it as soon as I sit down on the plane. Look, I really need to go, now.”

“No, Eddie, it takes twenty minutes for it to take effect, you should take it before-”

“Myra!” Eddie says, and he hates the tone that he uses, because he knows Myra will take it to heart. He starts again, much gentler this time. “Myra, I just... don’t want to still be waiting to board when my Valium kicks in, okay?”

He hears her huff on the other end of the line, but otherwise she doesn’t argue.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Fine. I miss you so much, Eddie.”

Eddie barely hears what she’s said, as someone knocks into him on their way past and he almost falls over his suitcase. He looks over to the person, a tall guy with broad shoulders, curly hair that looks like it desperately needs a wash, thick glasses, and the most garish combination of shirt and jacket he’s ever seen: a bright pink open button-down shirt that’s covered in oranges that’s horribly mismatched with a bright green undershirt.

The whole picture hurts Eddie’s eyes.

“Watch where you’re fucking going!” Eddie shouts after the guy, but he’s already gone, heading for the self-check-in counter.

“Eddie?”

“Oh, yes! Miss you, too. I’ll see you soon, honey,” he tells her.

“I love you!”

“I love you, too, Myra,” Eddie says, finally hanging up and sighing, shoving the phone into a pocket as he shifts forward in the line.

There’s a few high-pitched squeals, and there’s a _whoosh_ sound behind Eddie as several people run past him, and just about tackle the guy who ran into him. He watches the event unfold with a mixture of curiosity and disgust - he hates it when people make a scene at the airport. It’s why he never lets Myra pick him up.

He shifts forward a few more inches in the line, then looks back over to the commotion, wondering just what the fuck is going on. Is the guy supposed to be famous or something? Eddie’s not sure what the appeal is, though, as the guy stops what he’s doing to take a photo with the people. Can’t be an actor. Maybe a local TV person? That jaw has some appeal, he concedes.

Eddie looks away, shaking his head as he looks to see how many more people are in front of him. Five. Still, he’d rather wait in line than use one of those self-check-in machines. Who knows how many people use those things between sanitisations? Way too many, is the answer, and Eddie will never use one.

Eddie looks back as the girls finally leave the guy alone, and the guy looks relieved that the interaction is finally over. Those shoulders are pretty nice, too, actually, he supposes. He doesn’t see the point in bothering such people. Just leave them be, is his opinion. Eddie looks him up and down, trying _not_ to think about anything other than how tall the guy is.

He looks away again as the guy breezes his way through on the self-check-in to line up at security. He’ll pretend not to be a little annoyed by that, as the line finally shifts forward by another person.

Eddie manages to get through check in and security with minimal hassle, and as he walks through the duty-free area, he debates on whether or not to buy something for Myra. It could open up a can of worms if he buys the wrong thing, and he’s not sure if he wants to deal with that. But then he spots some perfume that she likes, and he quickly scoops that up. That seems like a safe bet.

He manages to find his way to his gate, a little more than an hour to spare until the flight starts boarding. There’s not many free seats, but he manages to find one, right next to the guy with the terrible fashion sense. He’s scrolling on his phone, headphones in and sipping from a flask.

The guy looks up at him as Eddie approaches, expecting something Eddie’s not going to give him, but then he relaxes and settles back in his seat. Eddie sighs, feeling like he’s been doing nothing but moving for the past few days, ever since he set foot in LA. He’s just looking forward to relaxing this weekend.

Every now and then, someone comes up to the guy and starts talking with him. It’s clear that none of them actually know him personally, they’re fans of whatever the guy does. 

Apparently, he’s the famous comedian Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier, but Eddie isn’t sure how famous the guy could be if he hasn’t heard of him.

Richie looks more and more tired with each handshake he gets, and he gets lower and lower in his seat after every interaction, looking a little deader inside each time. Eddie feels sorry for him, but he doesn’t know if he should say anything or not.

Eventually, the boarding call is made, and Eddie gets up quickly. He’s got a business class seat and he’s looking forward to stretching his legs a bit on the flight home. Richie doesn’t get up yet, though, Eddie notices, just takes another sip from his flask. Must be on a different flight, he assumes.

But he’s not on a different flight, though. He’s the last person to step into business class, and it sours Eddie’s impression of him for holding up the flight, because he comes trundling in five minutes later than the last person. Eddie hopes Richie’s not sitting next to him, the seat next to him the only one that seems to be free, but of course he is.

Richie shoves his duffle bag into the overhead compartment as the cabin door finally closes, and Eddie has to look quickly away before he starts staring. Richie finally drops down into his seat as the cabin crew starts the safety briefing. Eddie watches intently, like he always does, but of course Richie doesn’t.

Richie just sighs, putting his elbow on the opposite armrest and leans into it, his other hand covering his face. All of his body language is indicating that he's already had enough shit to deal with today. The past week. Or the past year.

“Stop staring,” Richie mutters, the tone reflecting what Eddie can see.

Eddie looks away, called out without even realising what he was doing. “Sorry.” He looks back up at the woman showing how to do up the belt.

“Hey, do I know you?” Richie asks.

Eddie looks back at him, seeing Richie’s face a lot more clearly close up. His eyes are sunken, with dark bags underneath. His face is gaunt, and he can see how pointed the cheekbones are, in a rather sickly way. His hair looks like it could have some life to it, if it weren’t so limp and greasy.

“No, I don’t think so,” Eddie says quickly, watching as the man’s eyes dart all over his face as well.

“No, no, I do. I bumped into you on the way to check in.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“And then you sat next to me in the gate lounge.”

“Yeah, I did. Doesn’t mean I know you.” Eddie goes back to watching the safety briefing.

“Hey! Can I get something to drink, please?” Richie asks the flight attendant as she grabs the safety card from his seat pocket.

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t serve anything while we’re taxiing. The drinks service will come by once we’re in the air,” she tells him politely. “Please ensure your belt is on during take-off.”

“Oh, right. My bad,” Richie says, sinking back into his seat.

Eddie sees how it makes Richie seem severely disappointed, but he also seems to be impatient, and as soon as she sidles on, he takes out his flask and takes a sip. Up close, Eddie can see a turtle sticker on it, slowly peeling away. Richie wipes his mouth on his sleeve, the deadness in his eyes radiating out of him.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

“No. Are you?” Richie raises an eyebrow, holding his flask out for Eddie to take.

Eddie looks away, already wondering if he’s giving off a vibe or something. He quickly debates in his head how honest he wants to be with a stranger. “No,” he admits quietly, taking the flask and having a small sip from it. Whatever it is burns the back of his throat and he coughs as he hands the flask back. “What the fuck is that?”

“Bourbon,” is the toneless reply. Richie screws the lid back on and shoves it back where it came from.

Eddie looks at the back of the seat in front of them as the plane comes to a stop at the end of the runway. He’s not sure what to make of the situation. Eddie makes sure his seat belt is on tight, but Richie doesn't even have his own on until the flight attendant reminds him again.

Eddie hates the take off. Hates the rumbling of the engines that shake the plane. Hates the g-force that throws him back in his seat. Hates the way his stomach stays on the ground when the plane lifts up. Eddie doesn’t mind the flying bit, though; looking out the window at the clouds is nice. He’s never really had a fear of heights. He knows his knuckles must be showing as he clenches the armrests.

“This is my favourite part,” Richie says beside him.

“What? Why the fuck is that?” Eddie asks, eyes firmly shut.

“Because I always have that little bit of hope that we’ll crash, or the engines will fail, or maybe something will explode. You know, the thrill that comes with possible death that makes you feel alive?”

“That’s depressing as fuck.”

“Sure is.”

“Fuck off.”

“Where the fuck to, dipshit? We’re on a fucking _plane_.”

Eddie pointedly ignores him as the plane continues with its ascent. It’s a few long minutes before the plane finally levels out, and Eddie feels like he can finally breathe again, letting out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He opens his eyes again, staring out at the clouds, tinted pink and orange from the sunset.

After about thirty minutes, he feels Richie’s hand slap against his chest.

“Oh, fucking finally, here it comes,” Richie says, and Eddie turns to see the flight attendant stop by with her cart.

“What can I get you?” She asks with a smile.

“You got alcohol? I don’t care what it is, I’ll take however many you’re legally allowed to give,” Richie tells her, already pulling out his wallet from a pocket.

She looks a little taken aback by his abruptness, but she shows him the small selection they have in their little bottles. Richie looks like he wants to dive into all of it, but he restrains himself. He hands a few bills her way as she hands him half a dozen bottles. Eddie asks for a few packets of pretzels and a can of diet Coke.

“You gonna eat with your alcohol?” Eddie asks him, watching as the first tiny bottle of vodka is guzzled down. “I really don’t want to be sitting next to you if you’re gonna be drinking the whole time.”

“Fuck off. I don’t care about your stupid fucking pretzels. Just let me be a sad fucking drunk in peace.” Richie flips him off for good measure.

Eddie flips him off back. “You should really be in therapy, dude. That’s not healthy.”

“What the fuck would you know about being healthy? You’re smaller than me, and my ribs stick out.” He sticks out his tongue and pulls up the hem of his shirt to prove it.

“That’s _really_ not healthy.” Eddie debates on whether or not to ask to be moved. He can’t believe his bad luck at being seated next to this nutcase. “I mean, I know I’m not healthy, but at least it’s in a more healthy way.”

He contemplates putting on the complimentary headphones, but he doesn’t want to do that. He knows that airlines recycle as much as they can. Recycled headphones, recycled air, recycled water. Probably. He doesn’t want to subject his ears to someone else’s earwax. He brings his own small water bottle with him and rations it for the flight. He tries to manage his anxiety towards the air, because he knows he can’t do shit about that except take a Valium.

Shit. Eddie forgot to take his Valium. No wonder he’s so antsy.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I exercise. I eat right. I don’t drink-”

“You drank my bourbon, you dipshit-”

“Well, I could tell you were going to be a lot to handle. I minimise the risk of germs and bacteria as much as I can.”

“You’re a hypochondriac? Figures.”

“I’m _vigilant_ ,” Eddie corrects. “I’m a risk analyst, that kind of involves knowing the risk of anything and everything. You wanna know how much damage you’re doing to your liver?”

“I don’t give a fuck about my liver,” Richie spits, and he downs half of another bottle out of spite. “I’m Richie, by the way.” He holds out a hand for Eddie to take.

Eddie just about gets whiplash. “Eddie,” he replies, taking hold. He feels Richie’s fingers clamp down around his palm, painful with the fingernails digging into his skin. “Let go man, what the fuck are you doing,” he grunts, trying to yank his hand back, but he just elbows the window instead and groans in pain.

“What the fuck are you, some fucking crazy psycho stalker or shit? Fucking – _let go already!_ ” Richie says, voice raised, trying to pull as well. Eddie can feel his face going red from embarrassment.

Finally, whatever force that was keeping Richie’s hand on his let’s go, and they both hug their hands to their chests, looking at each other with disdain. Eddie can see deep red marks from where Richie’s fingers were crushing his palm.

“What do you mean, stalker? Who the fuck are you?” Eddie asks, rubbing the imprints with his opposite thumb.

“I’m Richie Tozier,” Richie says, looking like that’s supposed to explain it.

Eddie shrugs his shoulders.

“Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier? The comedian?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“You really don’t know who I am?”

“No?”

Richie closes his eyes and leans his head back against his seat. “Well, thank fuck for that, then. That’s kind of a breath of fresh air, actually. You saw all those people coming up to me in the lounge, yeah? That happens whenever I leave my apartment.”

“That sounds like it sucks,” Eddie says, not sure what else to say. He’s sure he doesn’t want this conversation to continue. He turns away to the window, watching the pink and orange sky makes its slow gradient to blue and black. He tries not to think about a gremlin taking apart the engine.

“It really does. Hey, can I make a proposal?” Richie asks.

“I’m already married,” Eddie replies, holding up his hand to show off the band. “Besides, we’re not heading to Massachusetts anyway.”

“Not that kind of proposal, numb nuts, not that I’d be opposed,” Richie gives a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, then blows it all back out again like he’s trying to blow something else out with it. “This is a six-hour flight. What if instead of bickering and arguing like the old married couple that we’re acting like, we… talked?”

“Talked? Is that not what we’re doing now?”

“No, like what you were saying before. Therapy, or whatever, I don’t fucking know.” He starts drumming at the armrest.

“I’m not a therapist,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“Yeah, no shit, neither am I. All I’m saying is: we’re two strangers stuck next to each other for the next six hours. What if we pretended we were friends or something? Why don’t we vent? I don’t fucking know. Our shit isn’t going to affect each other. We’re just two strangers on a plane, we’re never going to see each other again.” Richie shrugs, and then finishes the second bottle. “We vent, you cry, you seem like a crier. It’s a win-win.”

Eddie thinks it over. He does have a lot of shit bottled up. Could be good to let some of it out. It would be better to see a professional, but he doesn’t want Myra to know what he really thinks. “I guess I can see the appeal in that,” he says eventually.

“You want one of these?” Richie asks, waving some of the bottles in his face.

Eddie does. He really does. He grabs the little bottle of tequila, thinking _fuck it, Myra can drink and call it medicinal, so can I_. “I’d rather be drunk if we’re gonna be venting our deepest, darkest shit,” he says, drinking a bit of his soda so he can upend the entirety of the bottle into the can.

“That’s the spirit!” Richie says with a slap to Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie hesitantly takes a sip of his soda. “I haven’t had tequila since college,” he mutters. It’s clearly the cheap shit, he can barely taste it over the Coke.

“Oh yeah, tequila drunk is the greatest, gives you the confidence to do anything. I personally love red wine drunk, I always cry myself to sleep with that one. Whiskey drunk just makes you feel way more sophisticated than you actually are.” Richie finishes his second bottle.

“How am I even in this situation?” Eddie wonders, pulling at his face.

“Alright, you go first. What deep, dark shit do you need to vent?”

“Wait, why do I have to go first?”

“Because I am a generous lover and I am attentive to your needs,” Richie says, smile smug on his stupid gaunt yet handsome face.

“Gee, thanks. But you go first. Please, go first.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Fine. My deep, dark shit? My manager forced me back into the closet. Said people don’t come to see gay comedians. And now I’m depressed, because not being able to live as your authentic self or whatever is quite damaging. My longest relationship? Four dates long! Because I don’t want to subject them to a life of secrecy. The only person who I really talk to anymore is my manager. The last time I talked to the people who were my best friends was… six years ago, at least. And now… I’m on the way to one of their funerals.”

As he talks, he looks down at his lap, hands fidgeting within each other. Eddie doesn’t know if or how he should comfort him.

“That’s fucked up,” Eddie says, and he sees just how glassy Richie’s eyes have become as he looks up to stare aimlessly at the back of the next seat. “I’m sorry, man.”

“You know, I used to love writing my own material. But my manager says I have to keep on brand, though. I’m a fucking brand, now. I used to have my little gay niche, as he calls it, and those guys were loyal, you know? I loved making them laugh every week, but not one of them did when I finally came back to do a show in New York. I could see their disappointed faces just staring up at me, and it fucking _broke_ me. I’ve lost so many people I really loved since I signed up with this fucking manager.”

“That’s… really fucked up. I’m sorry, man, I really don’t know what else to say.” Eddie gives in to his instincts, and rubs a hand on Richie’s shoulder. Richie sighs, and Eddie hopes that’s a sound of appreciation.

“Just… go on, with your deep, dark shit, man.”

“My deep, dark shit? Uh, yeah, okay, my turn. So, my marriage has turned into a bit of a shit show. I love my wife so much, but things have changed, they’re so different since the start of our relationship. She used to be one of the kindest and caring people I ever knew, like, she used to volunteer and donate blood and stuff, and we used to go running together. But then she had this accident, and now...

“She’s not like that anymore, she’s changed so much that it’s kind of scary. Because now she’s this controlling, paranoid person, and she focuses all that energy onto me. She started pointing out all these different problems that I didn’t even realise I had. My anxiety was getting worse, I needed to get every single mole checked, I need to make sure that I have my inhaler on me every time I go for a run.”

Eddie stops himself, and closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. He really hates crying.

“I miss my wife. I miss the person she used to be. And I’ve been trying to help her, we’ve been going to counselling for months, but I don’t know how to help when she’s resisting it. I just want her to be happy again. I want _us_ to be happy again.” 

Eddie has to pause, wiping at his face. Just saying it out loud really fucking hurts, deep down in his chest. He just wants Myra back.

“You know, I came to this horrible realisation a few weeks ago: she’s not my wife anymore. She’s my mother.”

The plane starts shaking, and as Eddie instinctually reaches out to grab Richie’s hand, he really regrets not taking that Valium. His can begins to tip, but as he goes to reach for it, Richie’s grip tightens. The can falls, spilling everywhere, but he doesn’t notice, because Richie looks terrified and out of his mind, eyes wide as he stares directly into Eddie’s own.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Richie’s face contorts. “Gazebos, Eds. It’s all a bunch of gazebos,” he mutters.

“Gazebos? What? Don’t call me Eds-” The turbulence becomes even more violent, and Eddie squeezes Richie’s hand and the opposite armrest even tighter. Eddie closes his eyes, wishing he’d taken that fucking Valium.

“Losers…” Richie grits out. “Pennywise… Let’s kill this fucking clown…”

“What the fuck are you muttering about?” Eddie asks, but he’s not even sure if Richie can hear him at this point, as Richie looks like he’s about to faint.

Eddie twists in his seat, reaching over ans grabbing Richie’s chin to steady his head. But then Richie is back again, his eyes open wide. “Richie? Can you hear me?”

“We keep forgetting, Eds,” Richie manages, grinding his teeth. “We keep meeting and forgetting, and it fucking _hurts_.”

“What? Dude, you’re freaking me out.” Eddie lets go of Richie’s hand, but he just grabs it again, his fingernails digging deep into Eddie’s skin. Eddie digs his fingernails into Richie’s hand out of spite.

“I don’t want to keep forgetting, Eds,” Richie says, starting to cry. He looks drunk, Eddie thinks, god knows how much he had to drink before getting on the plane. “We were best friends, Eds, come on, don’t you remember?”

Eddie leans away, trying to get his hand back. His heart races in his chest as he feels a headache coming on. “Stop, _please_ , you’re scaring me.”

“Our hands! We’ve both got scars on our hands! Look, please!” Richie grabs hold of Eddie’s other hand, turning it upwards to reveal a scar. Richie shows one on his.

“Richie, what the fuck?” Eddie pulls his hand away. He doesn’t remember having a scar there before. He feels weak as he stares down at it. He wants his puffer, but he knows it doesn’t help with hyperventilation. 

“Spaghetti…” Richie mutters, his eyes rolling back into his head for a moment, before coming back. “We don’t have much time, Eds. Fuck, my head feels like it’s about to explode.” His face contorts again. “I’m stuck in the Deadlights…”

“Deadlights?”

“Yes, fuck. Look, what year is this? I keep… _argh_ , fucking slipping!”

The pain in Eddie’s hand grows as the plane keeps shaking, and when he looks down, he can see a red stain on Richie’s fingernails, his hand beginning to sting. “It’s 2011. August 21st, 2011,” Eddie says weakly. He shudders, trying and failing not to think about all sorts of bacteria no doubt entering his system right now.

“Okay. Eddie, I know it’s hard, but you need to listen to me, please,” Richie leans into Eddie’s personal space, grabbing his head with his free hand. “In five years, Mike is going to call us back to Derry.”

“Derry?” Eddie grimaces at the word, and it sends a shooting pain through his temple. He grabs his head, rubbing into his forehead.

“Yeah, Derry. It wakes up. Pennywise wakes up. I’m stuck in the Deadlights right now, but I don’t think we’re going to have much time after I come out of them. I’m so fucking terrified right now, and I know you are, too, but you’re braver than you think, Eds. I promise you that. _You_ make me braver.”

Eddie feels so uncomfortable right now, with how close they are, but Richie doesn’t look like he’s moving any time soon. There’s not much he can do when Richie touches their foreheads together, and Eddie just wants to back right the fuck away from this intimacy.

“Gee, thanks,” Eddie mumbles with a huff of laughter.

“We’ve got a few shitty years ahead of us, but after It, I think we’ve got a good future, Eds. Just you and me.” He tenderly strokes at Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that.

“You’re really fucking drunk right now,” Eddie says gently, “so am I.” He knows he hasn’t had enough, but he just wants an excuse for this whole situation.

“I love you so fucking much, Eddie,” Richie says quietly.

He says it like he’s been holding it back for years. Eddie feels himself melt a bit with what he thinks is sympathy. “We’ve known each other for, like, an hour,” he replies weakly. “Please get off me, I have a wife that I… I love very much. I’m not a cheater.”

Richie looks frustrated at the answer, and he closes his eyes. “We’ve known each other so much longer than that. You just can’t remember right now. We grew up together, we were best friends. I loved you then, and I still do, even if I keep forgetting. No one ever compared to you.”

“Richie…” Eddie whispers, feeling his voice crack. His heart is beating so fast in his chest, his breathing quick. No one’s ever said something like that to him before. “I’m sorry. I… _don’t_ … I don’t remember.”

Richie shakes against him, his eyes screwed shut. “That’s okay, Eds. I mean, it fucking hurts, but it’s… it’s okay.” He leans away, starts tapping at the call button until the flight attendant arrives. “Can I get a pen and paper please? It’s important.”

The flight attendant gives him what he wants, and Eddie watches as Richie scribbles something, looking like it takes him a great deal of concentration. His heart breaks for Richie. “I’m really sorry I don’t remember, Richie,” he says. 

He doesn’t know if he says that for Richie’s benefit, or maybe his own. Some wishful thinking, maybe, on his part. Whatever Richie’s going through right now, it’s quite real for him, Eddie can see that. The emotion, the love he sees… he can see it, and it’s more than he’s seen or felt in a while. Eddie doesn’t know quite what to do with that thought.

Richie tears the piece of paper off, he hears it crumpling in his hand as he grips it tightly.

“It’s okay, Eds. You will. Just… just five more years, okay?” Richie looks exhausted, his head slipping down to Eddie’s shoulder. “I don’t want to forget. I hate forgetting.”

More tears are escaping before Eddie realises it. “Richie…”

“Spaghetti.”

Richie passes out, and soon starts snoring gently on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie lets him sleep, wiping his face with his unbloodied hand. He presses the call button after a few minutes, and asks for some antibacterial wipes and a band aid. Then he settles back, sighing heavily, and let’s Richie sleep against his shoulder.

***~.~***

Richie doesn’t wake up until the plane lands, whereupon he jolts upright from the force of it. Eddie looks over at him, an eyebrow raised as a long string of drool follows him. 

Landings are the fucking worst, as well, the G-force making all of Eddie’s insides feel like mush.

“You ever heard of personal space?” Eddie asks, but there’s no bite to it. Richie wipes his mouth, and then gingerly wipes at Eddie’s shoulder.

“Sorry, my bad,” Richie mumbles. “Fuck me, my head hurts. Did I really have that much to drink?” He pulls out his flask, giving it a shake. “Guess I did.”

Eddie breathes out a sigh of relief as the plane finally slows down, and begins to taxi along to the gate. He feels incredibly drained and tired as he pulls his phone from his pocket, and finds his home number. There’s an incredible reluctance within him as his thumb hovers over the call button.

He looks over at Richie instead, putting his phone away.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, concerned.

Richie just looks at him, and Eddie feels uncomfortable with the intensity of it. He watches Richie’s eyes dart all over his face, and Eddie just wants to shrivel away, out of sight. But then he finally looks away, leg jiggling with impatience. 

He toys with the piece of paper in his hand, finally looks and reads whatever’s on it. He gives an odd look at it. “Did you write this?” Richie asks, holding it out for Eddie to read.

_Find Stanley Uris. He’ll die in September 2016 if you don’t. Also get rid of Jared, he’s a dick and you’ll be better off for it._

Eddie shakes his head. “You did. I watched you do it. Who’s Stanley?”

“Fuck if I know. He’s not wrong about needing a new agent, though,” Richie says, reading it again, laughing. “Stanley _Urine_ , more like.” He balls it up and stuffs it into the pocket on the seat for the flight attendants to clean up. “Kobe!”

“You didn’t even throw it!” Eddie rubs his fingers at his temples as he feels an ungodly amount of frustration fill him. He’s almost glad he never has to see this man again.

Almost.

Richie starts touching his face anxiously. Around his mouth, under his nose, dragging his lower lids down. Eddie can feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves. He reaches out and catches a wrist just before Richie can chew at his fingernails.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks again.

“I’m fine.”

Eddie doesn’t believe him, but he also knows there’s nothing he can really do for him. He disembarks the plane right behind Richie, and is right behind him the whole way out of the airport. He can’t help but feel he needs to keep an eye on this nutcase, at least until he gets into a cab.

They share a look as they wait, but they don’t say anything more to each other. Richie finds a cab first, throwing his bag unceremoniously into the back seat. They make eye contact as it leaves, the harsh lighting making Richie look even worse.

Eddie calls Myra from the cab.

“Hey, honey. I’ll be home soon. Don’t wait up, okay?”

“Of course I’ll be waiting up, I’m always sick with worry whenever you leave.”

“I leave the house every day, Myra.”

“But you’ve never been gone for this long before. I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too, Myra,” Eddie says. He misses a lot of things about her. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yes. I love you!”

“I love you too, Myra.”  
Eddie breathes slowly, deliberately, eyes closing.

He still means it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The first half of the two part finale! Thanks so much for reading so far, it's been a helluva ride these past few weeks. I'm really excited to see what you guys think!

**May, 2009**

It’s almost six months into their marriage when they finally make the trip up to Derry so Myra can meet Eddie’s mother. They finally bite the bullet and take a long weekend, making a road trip out of it. Eddie’s already planned out where and when to have breaks, while Myra has organised a bunch of activities they can do on their seven-hour drive.

She’s excited, she knows how important this is to Eddie that they make this trip. For the first hour, they turn the music up and sing along badly. The second they play I Spy. The third Eddie pulls over at a rest stop, and eat some shitty diner food.

Eddie makes a joke that has Myra laughing so hard iced tea comes out of her nose. She gets him back with the Drew Barrymore impression that she’s secretly been working on.

They swap positions for the next leg of the drive, and Eddie puts on an audiobook. It’s on a subject that Myra has absolutely no interest in (the history of allergies), but she still listens anyway, knowing he’ll want to talk about it later. Half an hour into it, though, he falls asleep, and Myra turns it off.

She doesn’t stop at the next two stops Eddie planned, and pulls into the Derry Townhouse carpark ninety minutes sooner than he had planned. Myra looks over at him, smiling at his dumb, drooling face. She sneakily takes a picture with their digital camera before gently wiping it away with her sleeve. Then she pokes him in the cheek to wake him up.

“Why are you poking me?” Eddie groans, sitting up and swatting her hand away.

“Because you have such lovely cheeks! Come on, we’re here.”

They check in and dump their bags in their room, and then spend a little time walking around and exploring the town, looking for a place to eat. They find a Chinese place, Jade of the Orient, and have a pretty good meal.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Eddie asks between carefully chewed mouthfuls of beef and broccoli.

“I’d like to walk along that river I saw on the way in,” Myra replies between less carefully chewed mouthfuls of Kung Pao chicken. “We could do that in the morning, then head to the cemetery in the afternoon.”

“That sounds good,” Eddie says with a nod.

They get through the rest of their meal, Myra taking out her camera to get a particularly unflattering picture of Eddie with his pair of chopsticks in his nostrils, imitating a walrus. They agree on an early night, and they meander their way slowly back to the Townhouse, holding hands.

“What was it like growing up here? This seems like a good place to have a childhood,” Myra asks as they wait at a stoplight.

Eddie gives her an odd look. “Who the hell remembers their childhood?” He says, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Uh, most people?” Myra replies, an eyebrow raised, but Eddie just shrugs.

The green light to walk appears, so Myra doesn’t see the growing concern and worry on Eddie’s face. They’re outside the Townhouse by the time she finally does.

“Honey? What’s wrong?” She stops them at the gate, running a hand up and down his arm. “Are you worried about tomorrow or something?”

Eddie shakes his head, looking down. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… do people really remember their childhoods? I’ve been trying to think about it since you asked, but I’m just drawing a blank here. I thought that was normal.”

Myra can see the distress on his face, but she’s not sure what else to do but hug him. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry I just shook up your whole world view,” she says, rubbing at the small of his back. He sighs against her shoulder, hugging her back. “Hey, maybe I’m the weirdo?”

“I thought you were one already?” Eddie jests, and he gets a shove to the shoulder for it.

They head upstairs, and change into their pyjamas after going through their nightly routine. Myra sets one knee down on the bed, book in hand, and it squeaks so loudly that she’s sure that everyone on the block can hear it.

“Well, we’re not having sex in this bed,” she says, and laughs at the disgusted expression Eddie pulls.

“You do realise that most hotels don’t wash their bedding nearly as often as they should, right? If I shine a black light around this room, it’s gonna look like a Jackson Pollock painting from all the blood, sweat and semen.” He lifts up his side of the blanket, and sits himself down with a shiver onto the mattress

“I know the statistics just as well as you, Eddie. I wonder how many butts have been in this bed?” Myra wonders, opening up her book at the bookmark.

“ _Oh, my god_ , so many butts!” He looks incredulous at the thought as he settles down.

Myra sits up for a little while longer than Eddie, who falls asleep within a few minutes of his head hitting the pillow, halfway through reading _The Help_. When she finally puts her book down and turns off the light, she snuggles into Eddie’s back, and throws an arm around his waist, slowly falling asleep herself.

***~.~***

Myra wakes up first, just after eight. She gets up slowly, doing her best to not make the bed squeak so Eddie can keep sleeping. She brushes her teeth, puts up her hair, and then heads out to the café she saw just down the street. She’s sitting down, waiting for her order when a nice man called Mike strikes up a conversation with her.

Just before she leaves with her order, he congratulates her on her new marriage, and suggests she and Eddie check out the library before they leave.

When Myra gets back to the Townhouse, coffee and breakfast in hand, she gently shakes Eddie awake. It’s just before ten, and he doesn’t often allow himself a day to sleep in. They treat themselves to the everything bagels she got for them, and then they pack up a backpack with several granola bars and packets of dried fruit for lunch, along with their water bottles, Myra’s book, and a map.

Eddie leads the way, despite him not remembering much, guiding them down towards the river Myra saw on their way in. The air is starting to heat up with summer so close, but the majority of the warmth is kept at bay by the green canopy above them. As they walk along the bank of the rocky river, Eddie slows them down.

“You really remember your childhood?” He asks Myra.

Myra nods. “Not every single day, but yeah.”

“And everyone remembers theirs? This is a universal experience?”

Myra nods, kicking aside some rocks. “I think so?”

“What happened when you were thirteen, then?” It feels like Eddie’s challenging her, to prove that she can remember.

“When I was thirteen I had a crush on this boy called Timothy. He was very sweet and had curly brown hair. I think he liked me back, but we were both too scared to do anything. I got my first A when I was thirteen, and my first F. It was also the last time I asked for a pony for Christmas.”

Myra watches the frown on Eddie’s brow burrow deeper into his forehead as he listens.

“My first clear memories are college,” he tells her, and that certainly peaks Myra’s curiosity. “I thought that’s how memory worked for everyone, like you finish puberty and then you can remember. Or something, I don’t know.”

He leans down to the riverbed, grabs a rock and throws it further down the river. Myra’s not sure what to tell him.

“Let’s take a break, hun,” she says, taking his wet hand into her own and pulling him away from the river.

They walk through the forest until they find a clearing. She goes to sit in the middle, a patch of soft looking green grass looking very inviting, but Eddie stops her from walking further into it.

“What?”

“There’s old mine shafts all over the place,” Eddie says, staring down at one particular area. “Let’s go sit by a tree instead.”

They do what Eddie says, sitting near the roots. The shade is nice, and there’s a cool breeze that brings with it the fresh smell of flora that Myra loves. They feast on the granola bars and dried fruit, and then Eddie lays his head in Myra’s lap, ready for a nap. 

“I think I remember something,” Eddie says, his eyes closed.

“What?”

“I think I had a crush on someone, too. I think… I think he had curly dark brown hair as well. Blue, or maybe brown eyes. I think he must have been a fucking turd.”

Myra bursts into laughter, and Eddie chuckles, too. Eventually she calms down, and takes out her book, reading aloud to him for a while until he falls asleep.

After a while, Myra sets her book down, feeling incredibly content with just carding her fingers through Eddie’s hair and watching him sleep, listening to the sounds of the forest around them.

***~.~***

Eddie doesn’t seem to remember where his mother is buried. 

The longer they walk around, the more worried he gets. Myra’s being patient, giving him encouraging squeezes of his hand, but she’s wondering if this is something she needs to be concerned about, as Eddie gets more and more anxious.

“We could ask someone,” Myra tries to suggest.

“No, I can remember. I _can_ , she’s around here somewhere... Aha!” He spots her headstone, and he drags Myra over.

Eddie’s told her that Sonia wasn’t the best mother, and that it’d taken some time to really accept and recover from whatever she did to him. Myra’s never pushed him for details, and doesn’t try to guess at what happened, just lets him tell her about it in his own time. But he’s always made it clear that he knows she loved him, and he her.

Myra puts a hand on his shoulder as Eddie squats down to nicely arrange the wildflowers they picked in the forest.

“Momma, this is Myra,” he says to the ground, going about his task. “We met at work, five-ish years ago, and we married in December. I love her very much.”

Myra smiles as she watches him. “I love him, too, Mrs. Kaspbrak. And I hope to for a long time.”

Eddie smiles up at her, once he’s satisfied with the arrangement, standing up and kissing her. Myra knows how important this is to him, and she’s happy to do it, her eyes closed as they hug.

When she opens them again, Eddie’s face still pressed into her shoulder, a bright red balloon floats over the top of Sonia’s headstone. Myra has time to see a bright, white face reflected in it before it suddenly pops, and she jumps back from Eddie with a startled yelp.

***~.~***

_Myra falls through the earth, landing with a thud on top of a closed casket. She groans, her back and head thrumming with pain, but she’s able push herself up. Worms and bugs crawl around in the dirt walls, wriggling and breaking their way through._

_“Eddie!” She screams, looking above her._

_But Eddie doesn’t come._

_Myra screams for him again, and again, and again, until she realises with a horrible, sinking feeling, that there’s an echo. She goes to shout again, but stops before any sound escapes._

_Another voice shouts for him instead._

_She feels a chill in her bones as a tuft of bright, orange hair peeks over the edge of the grave above her._

_“Eddie?” Myra tries again, weakly._

_“Eddie?” The voice mocks, the pale white clown finally appearing. “Eddie! Eddie Eddie Eddie!” The clown starts dancing above her. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen_ Eddie! _I’ve missed him so much!”_

_The clown giggles, it’s a grotesque sound that makes her shiver. And then it freezes, a long line of drool dripping down into the grave._

_Myra turns away, trying to climb out the opposite side, but the dirt crumbles beneath her hands. It dances and claps its way over to the side she’s on, perching right on the edge, looking down upon her with glee._

_“What have you done to Eddie?” Myra demands, but it just starts laughing, the sound growing deafening to the point where she has to cover her ears._

_“Oh ho ho, I’m not doing anything to Eddie-bear! I can’t, not yet, anyway. Soon.” A look of hunger descends on its face, and another spindle of drool splashes onto Myra’s face._

_She backs away, wiping at her face desperately._

_Then It jumps into the grave, somersaulting on the way down, landing on the opposite end of the casket. Myra backs into the dirt wall, trying to figure out her options. She knows that whatever the clown is doing, it means that Eddie can’t hear her. It smiles, dancing its way towards her, the corners of its mouth curling freakishly._

_When It gets close enough, still doing its jig, Myra quickly shoves the heel of her hand into its nose. It staggers back, crying out, and she tries climbing out again. She’s able to find purchase, and she scrambles her way up the dirt wall as quickly as she can._

_“Eddie!” Myra screams again, her hand grasping the edge. But then there’s a roar behind her, she feels fingernails scraping her neck, twining themselves around her collar, and she’s yanked back down._

_Myra tumbles, head over heels, smashing into the casket, screaming as she lands face down onto the bones of Sonia Kaspbrak. She tries to lift herself up, tries to climb out, but the bones move, reaching out and holding her down. Myra screams, trying to free herself, but the bones have an unnatural amount of strength within them._

_The lower half of Sonia’s jaw unhinges itself, biting into the underside of her jaw, while the top half bites into the soft cartilage of her nose. Together, they clamp shut, and Myra can’t get any more sound out, blood filling her nostrils and mouth. She feels a deep sense of fear, more intense than she’s ever felt before. Her heart beats wildly in her chest._

_“Poor Myra Kaspbrak, taken too soon! No one will know what happened, not even you!”_

_The light disappears, and then Myra’s falling again._

***~.~***

Myra lurches up from the bed, gasping for breath, still feeling pain in her nose and jaw. She cries, heart still beating fast and lungs hyperventilating.

“Eddie,” she wheezes, feeling beside her in the dark, and she shakes him awake. “ _Eddie!_ ”

“Myra?” Eddie says, groggy with sleep. He wakes up real fast as he hears her, and he reaches out for the lamp. “Myra, what the hell happened? I think you’re having a panic attack-”

“We have to leave, we have to go! We’re not safe here, you can’t ever come back!” She’s flying around the room, packing their things, while Eddie just watches, dumbfounded.

“Myra, it’s not even 6AM,” he says, trying to reason with her. He grabs her, makes her pause. He rubs at her arms, trying to make her focus on that. “Just try and breathe, okay? Slow, deep breaths.”

Myra wants to listen to him, just wants to shake the feeling of terror from within her bones, but she can’t. It’s settled, deep within her breast, and it’s not leaving. She shakes herself free, and packs the rest of their things without his help.

“There’s not going to be anyone down at the desk to check us out,” Eddie says, trying again.

“I don’t care, Eddie! There’s something inherently wrong about this town, and I refuse to stay here another minute! You can sleep in the fucking car, Edward!” Myra can see how her outburst scares him, but she cares about getting him to safety more. She doesn’t want him to feel like this, ever.

And without even dressing, Myra drags Eddie and their luggage down the stairs. She puts a wad of cash and the room key on the front desk, and then they’re in the car, driving out of town like the devil is out to get them. 

Myra thinks that’s exactly what’s happening.

***~.~***

 **June, 2009**

There’s never a quiet time in New York City, but the hour between 6 and 7AM is certainly quieter than most. Myra and Eddie wake up just before that, and go for a three-mile run together, always back just before seven, when the traffic really starts to ramp up.

Running with Eddie now is different. Myra doesn’t say anything to him about it, but now everything about her feels so much heavier than it should. She feels a heaviness in her muscles, her organs, her _bones_. Footsteps land heavy, everything feels like it’s plodding along, rather than the usual swiftness she feels when she runs.

Usually, Myra loves running, feels good during it, and feels especially high after. But now it feels like she has to do a lot more work just to get air in, or for her muscles to remember that they do this every day. She gets stitches every time now. When they get back to their apartment building, they normally race up the stairs to their front door, but Myra has to walk up them now.

One warm morning, as they run back onto the block with their apartment building, Myra lands her left foot wrong, lands it _badly_ on the curb. She can feel her Achilles tendon stretch beyond its limit and then break with a loud, sickening _pop!_ that echoes through the street. Myra collapses to the ground and screams as the pain blossoms and blooms through her leg.

When Eddie’s done vomiting from the sound, he’s at her side, trying to ask her what’s wrong, but Myra just keeps _screaming_ , gesturing to her leg. It’s all she can do, she can’t remember how to move her mouth to form words, the pain overtaking her rational mind so all she can do is make a primal scream.

***~.~***

_When she dreams, she’s back in the coffin._

_Darkness._

_Taste of blood._

_Bone on bone._

_Can’t move._

_Can’t scream._

_Eddie._

***~.~***

August, 2009

Seven weeks, two surgeries and one nasty but treatable infection later, Myra is finally back within the comfort of her own home. It takes some manoeuvring with the boot around her foot, but Eddie carefully carries her through their apartment bridal style to their bedroom. He gently sets her down on their bed, and she has such a great sense of elation that she starfishes immediately. 

Myra really fucking missed their bed.

She scoots over, and enticingly pats the bit of bed beside her. Eddie grins and joins her, and they cuddle together for a long while. Myra’s in far too much pain to do anything else, which he understands, the cuddling is all she really wants to do right now.

“Good to be back?” He asks, arms wrapped around each other.

Myra nodded against his chest, already intent on taking a nap.

***~.~***

Physical therapy doesn’t start for a few more weeks, and Myra can’t wait until it’s over and done with so she can move by herself again. She’s slowly being weaned off painkillers, and with that comes the unfortunate side effect of constantly being grumpy. She says a lot of snippy shit towards Eddie, which they both know she doesn’t mean, but she still feels bad when the pain finally dulls.

Myra does her best to make it up to him with soft touches and kind words.

There’s not much Myra can do at the moment. She struggles to deal with the possible reality that she’ll never regain full use of her leg again, or that she’ll always have some pain in her leg. She tries to distract herself with some books and catch up on some TV.

Myra watches the entirety of _Sex and The City_ , and concludes that she’s a Miranda. She becomes a bit of a couch potato in the meantime, which she hates, but there’s not much else she can do at the moment.

***~.~***

_Every night, she’s back in the coffin._

_Darkness._

_Taste of blood._

_Bone on bone._

_Can’t move._

_Can’t scream._

_Eddie._

***~.~***

**October, 2009**

Learning to walk again is a gruelling exercise, and Myra didn’t realise just how much she took the skill for granted. She pours a lot of blood, sweat and tears into walking again, not all of them willing and not all of them her own. Eddie comes with her to some of the sessions, and lets her hold his hand as tightly as she needs.

When they sit in the taxi home, she can still see the bright red imprints of her fingernails in his hand. She kisses each red mark in apology, as her words aren’t so great at the moment.

Soon, she can comfortably stand on her foot, and within a few weeks she’s hobbling around with a walker, which definitely doesn’t make her feel old. When Myra hears she won’t be able to run again, she’s devastated. She loved running, especially with Eddie.

When Myra can comfortably walk with a cane she’s ready to return to work. She’s really looking forward to it, to finally seeing her friends again. She didn’t really get to see them much outside of the occasional weekend.

She tries on her work clothes for the first time in months, and, well… it’s generous to say that they only pinch. Myra expected the weight again, and she’s fine with it. She knows Eddie’s noticed, but if he has any thoughts about it, he keeps them to himself. He still looks at her with all the love in the world.

He goes with her to pick up some new clothes, letting her hang onto his elbow while using her cane in her other hand as they walk around. They have a nice afternoon out, and then an early dinner at a sushi place Myra loves but hasn’t been able to go to. It’s the first time in a long time that Myra feels like herself.

She feels so much like herself, in fact, that as soon as they get home, Myra drags Eddie into the bedroom, and all he can do is (very enthusiastically) be along for the ride.

***~.~***

_Every dream, back in the coffin._

_Darkness._

_Taste of blood._

_Bone on bone._

_Can’t move._

_Can’t scream._

_Eddie._

***~.~***

**February, 2010**

With the New Year comes a new job offer for Eddie, a better and higher paying position at another insurance firm. With Myra’s encouragement, he eagerly accepts, and so for the first time in six years, they don’t go to work together. At first, Myra misses him like crazy. She sends him a text every few hours, at lunch time she calls him, and as soon as he gets home, later than her now, she hugs him a little tighter.

It’s a little difficult to get used to, when they had a routine ingrained into them through years and years, but she eventually gets used to the new one.

Myra keeps working hard herself, having been given the impression that she would soon get a promotion herself. She’s good with the clients, she’s good with the numbers, she has the experience. It breaks her heart when she’s then passed over for Darren in the cubicle beside her, who’s only worked at the company for three years. He’s a nice young man, and Myra congratulates him the day before he’s due to move.

Myra asks for a meeting with her higher ups, and outlines exactly why she deserves a promotion. 

She’s told that she’s good in the position she’s currently in.

“Well, then. That’s that, then,” Myra says with a shrug, pushing herself up with a cane.

“That’s that,” Steve, her boss says, smiling. She used to think he was nice, but now she realises how condescending he really is.

“I’m giving my notice. I’ll pack up my things.” Myra surprises herself with her promptness. She didn’t even think about resigning before the words are falling from her mouth. Still, no backing out now, she thinks, heading towards the door.

Myra genuinely expects more objection, that she’s a valuable asset, yes, she can have her promotion, we don’t want to lose you to a competitor.

“Very well, then,” Steve says, voice cold and clinical. “Your last cheque will be in the mail.”

Myra’s a big ball of confusing feelings as she drives through the nightmare that is New York, but she thinks she feels more positive than negative overall. She stops by the supermarket, and picks up the things she needs for her favourite dinner.

She tells Eddie what happened when he gets home, and he hugs her tightly.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Absolutely, one hundred percent sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was entirely on impulse, but I’m sure. Absolutely, one hundred percent sure,” she replies, smiling.

Eddie nods, smiling back. “I support you, one hundred percent,” he says, kissing her.

Later that evening, they’re both a sweaty mess in bed and Myra is basking in the afterglow of _three_ orgasms, which Eddie is very proud of himself for. She disentangles to excuse herself to the bathroom, and as she sits on the toilet, chin in her hands, Myra wonders what she’s going to do tomorrow.

***~.~***

_Darkness._

_…laughter?_

_Taste of blood._

_Bone on bone._

_Laughter._

_Can’t move._

_Can’t scream._

_Eddie._

_“Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” ___

____

_The laughter starts rumbling the coffin around her, reaching a roar, but Myra isn’t allowed to wake up. She’s never allowed to wake up. Myra hears the coffin slam open, and then she’s pulled around onto her back._

____

_Can’t scream._

____

_The clown does its little jig above her, laughing and clapping its hands. Its eyes burn bright orange as it smiles down at her. It crouches down, a hand hovering above her lower abdomen. ___

______ _ _

_“No, no, no!” It says merrily. “This won’t do at all!” ___

________ _ _ _ _

_It plunges its hand inside her, and Myra isn’t able to make much sound as she can feel him wiggling his fingers in her, moving something inside. It only takes a matter of moments, and then It’s done with whatever It’s doing, removing Its hand._

________ _ _ _ _

_The pain is over quickly, but Myra can tell it’s not the end of what It’s done. It gives her a little wave and a chuckle before It slams the lid closed, and Myra is left to the rest of her dream._

________ _ _ _ _

_Eddie._

________ _ _ _ _

***~.~***

________ _ _ _ _

**March, 2010**

________ _ _ _ _

It’s just a few weeks later when Myra wakes up to an excruciating pain in her right side. She doesn’t get time to wake Eddie before she’s vomiting over the side of the bed, and the sound wakes him up for her.

________ _ _ _ _

“Myra?” He says, sounding sleepy, but he wakes up quickly as she vomits a second time. “Oh, my god.” He quickly turns on the bedroom light, and then he pulls back her hair, rubbing a hand on her shoulder as Myra vomits a third time.

________ _ _ _ _

Myra rolls onto her back when she’s sure her stomach is empty.

________ _ _ _ _

“I’m sorry,” she says, going to get up, but the pain saps her of her strength, and she falls back onto the bed. She groans, and rubs at her side.

________ _ _ _ _

“Don’t get up,” Eddie says, disappearing out of the bedroom.

________ _ _ _ _

Myra hears him rummaging around in the hallway closet, and then in the kitchen, before returning with the mop and bucket. She massages her side, but the pain is resolute. Eddie starts mopping up the vomit.

________ _ _ _ _

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sounding scared. “Is it your appendix? How bad is the pain? Should I call an ambulance?”

________ _ _ _ _

Myra tries to think. “I don’t… I don’t know. _Ah_!” Pain starts radiating through her shoulder, and she really starts panicking as she remembers the last time she went through this as she rubs at it. College. She had to get her left ovary removed. “Eddie,” she says, teary, slowly.

________ _ _ _ _

“Mm?” He grunts, wringing out the mop.

________ _ _ _ _

Her head starts swimming, overwhelmed, and then-

________ _ _ _ _

Myra’s staring up into the roof of an ambulance. The stretcher beneath her shakes as it’s shoved into the back. The EMT jumps in, followed by Eddie. He’s still crying, pale and shaken.

________ _ _ _ _

“Eddie?”

________ _ _ _ _

“Oh, my god, Myra, you fainted!” He grabs her hand when she reaches out for it. “This is my fault. I did this to you. Fuck, we’re usually careful, you know, _safe_. Fuck, there was so much blood-”

________ _ _ _ _

“ _Eddie_ , this isn’t your fault,” Myra says, and breathes through another wave of pain. Faintly, she hears the sound of laughter. She goes to say something more, but another wave of nausea hits. She heaves, and the EMT quickly produces a bag. Eddie wipes her mouth with a tissue when she’s done.

________ _ _ _ _

As soon as they get to the hospital Myra is taken to have an ultrasound. She winces as the probe is inserted and rested against her cervix. Eddie helps to hold one of her legs up, her muscles feeling like lead. As she grimaces in discomfort, she feels him massage her thigh in small circles. Another spell of faintness washes over her, and she struggles to stay awake as she mentions it. A few agonising minutes go by as the technician and doctor look at the screen.

________ _ _ _ _

The doctor says her fallopian tube has ruptured. She’s bleeding internally. The probe comes out of her bright red. She needs surgery-

________ _ _ _ _

Suddenly the bed is moving down a hallway. Eddie’s at her side, looking terrified. Myra reaches up to touch his face, then-

________ _ _ _ _

The bed hits some doors, and Eddie’s suddenly gone, her arm back on the bed. Someone in a mask is holding up a needle, explaining something, but it sounds all garbled. She watches as the person picks up her hand, now with a catheter in it, and pushes whatever’s in the needle into it-

________ _ _ _ _

***~.~***

________ _ _ _ _

_Darkness._

________ _ _ _ _

_Light._

________ _ _ _ _

_Fire._

________ _ _ _ _

_Fire?_

________ _ _ _ _

_The coffin is on fire!_

________ _ _ _ _

___The skeleton turns to ash and smoke around her, and Myra feels it all entering her lungs, burning her from the inside as she screams, pounding against the coffin lid._

______ _ _

_She hears laughter over the roar of the fire._

______ _ _

_Eddie._

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

Myra feels so _hot_ when she wakes up.

______ _ _

She can feel the heat in her face, her entire body, and she tries to push the blanket covering her down. Her arms feel incredibly weak, though, she can barely move a finger. She looks around the stark white room, feeling helpless, until she sees Eddie, slumped and asleep in a chair.

______ _ _

“Eddie,” she croaks, her voice feeling dry and hoarse. It barely sounds like her, and she realises how sore her throat is. “ _Eddie_.”

______ _ _

She has to say his name a few more times before he wakes up, and he rushes to her side, somehow looking both relieved and panicked.

______ _ _

“Oh, my god, you’re red all over,” he says, putting a hand to her forehead.

______ _ _

“Hot,” Myra manages, and Eddie nods, going out into the hallway to call a nurse.

______ _ _

As she’s being cooled down with ice packs, a doctor comes in, and explains what’s happening to her. It’s menopause. Fucking _menopause_. Myra’s only thirty-three. She stops listening, unable to, as she cries the hardest she ever has. She knows Eddie will listen.

______ _ _

When the doctor finally leaves and Myra is finally cooling down, she reaches out for Eddie, and she holds on tightly as he puts his forehead against hers and promises her they’ll get through this.

______ _ _

Myra doesn’t know if she can believe that right now.

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

June, 2010

______ _ _

Myra and Eddie try counselling together.

______ _ _

She doesn’t admit it at first, but Myra goes only for Eddie, not for herself. If she had her way, she’d stay in their apartment all day. She’s given up looking for work after Eddie tried to get her a job at his new company. They only offered her an entry level position, and Myra knows she’s worth more than that.

______ _ _

She doesn’t want to disappoint him, so Myra sits next to Eddie on a couch every week, and tells the counsellor that she’s starting to accept everything that’s happened, that she’s taking care of herself. It’s all bullshit, of course, and she knows her counsellor knows it.

______ _ _

Myra does want to believe in everything she’s saying, she desperately wants to, but it feels like there’s something bigger that’s controlling more and more of her actions and thoughts. It sits on her shoulder and whispers into her ear, making her feel more awful about herself. 

______ _ _

Even worse, it keeps trying to get her to fixate on Eddie.

______ _ _

She has so many mood swings, mostly between anger that could rival a summer storm, and a deep sadness that chills her to her core, freezing her over like a blizzard. Sometimes there’s a bit of euphoria, which are the easiest swings to deal with, but also the shortest.

______ _ _

Myra argues with Eddie a lot more now. Well, it’s more arguing _at_ Eddie. She can’t help it, she doesn’t know how to deal with what’s happened and what’s still happening to her, and Eddie bears the brunt of it. He endures it, and Myra loves him so much for it, but she also feels incredibly guilty.

______ _ _

She wonders why he’s staying. She yells at him to leave, because she can’t understand why he wants to be with her if she’s old before her time. Why would he want to be with her if they can’t have kids anymore, not that they were even sure if or when they wanted to.

______ _ _

Myra feels so different now, not at all the person she used to be, because there’s a part of her that feels _relief_ that there won’t be kids, that it’ll be just her and him. 

______ _ _

Forever.

______ _ _

Myra feels sick at the thought.

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

_Darkness._

______ _ _

_Stench of smoke._

______ _ _

_Can’t move._

______ _ _

_Can’t scream._

______ _ _

_Eddie._

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**September, 2010**

______ _ _

When September rolls around, and Eddie’s birthday with it, Myra wants to make it special for him. She cooks his favourite dinner, dresses up, and puts on some of the perfume he likes. The weight has piled on, and she struggles to recognise herself in the mirror most days, but today she feels good. Maybe even a little sexy in the new lingerie she bought.

______ _ _

The last time they had sex was a few days before her surgery, and Eddie’s been so patient. Myra still doesn’t quite feel like herself, but she wants to do this with him.

______ _ _

The evening goes well. Myra gets the atmosphere just right with the music and the candles, and Eddie enjoys food. He follows the pace she sets, just happy that it’s happening.

______ _ _

They know how to read each other, have so much practice with each other’s bodies, but it still takes a lot of work from both of them, _a lot_ of lube and a fair amount of experimenting with various positions for Myra to feel comfortable.

______ _ _

She isn’t able to come, though, despite Eddie’s best efforts, but Myra doesn’t mind.

______ _ _

“I missed this,” Eddie says as they cuddle after.

______ _ _

“So did I,” Myra says back. Her head is on his clavicle, her hand playing with his coarse chest hair. “I’m sorry, I know it’s been frustrating for you.”

______ _ _

“It has, but... I’ll never ask for more than what you’re willing to give, okay?”

______ _ _

He runs his fingers through her hair, just the way she likes, tugging slightly at the roots. Myra feels herself relaxing against him.

______ _ _

“I don’t know when I’ll want to do this again,” she confesses, quietly. She feels bad. Eddie’s waited for so long for this in the first place. “Is that okay?”

______ _ _

Eddie nods above her, and Myra relaxes a bit more. “Like I said, I’ll never ask for more than you’re willing to give.”

______ _ _

She kisses him for that.

______ _ _

Eddie drifts off to sleep, but Myra stays awake for a while longer, anxiety thrumming through her chest as she thinks that she doesn’t have much of herself left.

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**January, 2011**

______ _ _

By January, Myra’s locked away everything that used to be her.

______ _ _

She gives into the voice inside her, the one that constantly says _there’s something wrong with Eddie, Eddie needs help, Eddie’s in danger, is Eddie okay? Keep Eddie close, it’s the only way to know that he’s safe._

______ _ _

But of course, she knows she can’t be with him 24/7, and that just sets off her anxiety even more. So, Myra asks Eddie to start texting her as soon as he gets to work, just to make sure he gets there safely. Then she asks him to call her. When he gets there, when he’s on his lunch breaks, when he’s about to leave.

______ _ _

And she can see that Eddie’s seen just how much she’s changed. He tries to bring it up with her, tries to get her to go see someone again, but Myra refuses. 

______ _ _

She’s fine. 

______ _ _

She’s okay. 

______ _ _

It’s Eddie she needs to worry about.

______ _ _

_Eddie_.

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**2012**

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**2013**

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**2014**

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**2015**

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

**September, 2016**

______ _ _

_Three thousand and twenty-seven._

______ _ _

_Myra’s been in the coffin for three thousand and twenty-seven nights._

______ _ _

_And nothing’s ever changed._

______ _ _

_Until she hears Eddie._

______ _ _

_“This kills monsters if you believe it does.”_

______ _ _

_Eddie?_

______ _ _

_“If you believe it does!”_

______ _ _

_It sounds like he’s right next to her._

______ _ _

_“If you believe it does!”_

______ _ _

_The coffin begins to shake._

______ _ _

_“BEEP BEEP, MOTHERFUCKER!”_

______ _ _

_The coffin begins to splinter around Myra a few seconds later. She can feel the power of whatever is keeping her here waning. She shoves her fingers between the splinters in the lid, and tears it apart, screaming._

______ _ _

_Dirt falls in, all over her face, and Myra can’t help but hold her breath as she begins to dig herself up. When her lungs begin to burn, and can’t keep fighting her diaphragm, she finds that she can keep breathing. So she keeps going, digging and breathing._

______ _ _

_Myra hears Eddie talking to Richie. He thinks he’s killed It. Then - the sound of something being stabbed. She hears screams, and feels dread in her heart, because she knows. She keeps going, digging and breathing, as she hears someone else call out Eddie’s name for her._

______ _ _

_She keeps going._

______ _ _

_Digging and breathing. Digging and breathing._

______ _ _

_It feels like it takes forever for her hand to break the surface. She tries to find something to grasp on to, to try and pull herself up. When Myra can’t find anything, she feels herself scream in frustration, because she knows, she’s so close to freedom –_

______ _ _

_A hand grasps tightly around her own. It pulls her up through the last foot of earth, and for the first time in three thousand and twenty-seven nights, she sees the sun._

______ _ _

_Myra sees Eddie._

______ _ _

_He pulls her out until she can kick herself free from the earth, and for the first time in three thousand and twenty-seven nights, she’s breathing fresh air. She can feel it entering her lungs, and she coughs out great plumes of black smoke from her mouth and nostrils._

______ _ _

_She looks around, and sees they’re both in a graveyard. It looks like the one in Derry, but it just keeps going, over the horizon and farther. Nearby she sees another woman being pulled from the ground by another man with curly hair. She starts coughing up black smoke, too._

______ _ _

_Two more hands pop up, but there’s no one else to grab them, and so Myra urges Eddie to go and help one, while the other woman urges her partner as well._

______ _ _

_The hand Eddie pulls up belongs to a woman, and Myra gets a sense of vague recognition as she looks at her face. She thinks she might be an actress? The other hand belongs to a man, whom she doesn’t recognise._

______ _ _

_All four pulled from the earth keep coughing up black smoke, which quickly coalesces into a shapeless blob, three bright hearts shining from the middle. Instinctively, everyone in the graveyard moves toward the quivering, shaking mass._

______ _ _

_Myra can feel the panic coming from it in waves as their hands plunge into the smoke. This is what has been keeping her, keeping them all captive. It’s what’s changed her so irreparably. It’s what’s kept her and Eddie apart. She uses the anger to reach in deep, and together, she and Eddie pull out one of the lights._

______ _ _

_They hold the quivering ball together, then close their hands over it. She can feel it buzzing against her skin like a fly, trying in vain to escape. Myra looks up at Eddie, both of them determined, and their palms meet, snuffing out the light between them._

______ _ _

_The smoke turns to grey and starts blowing away in the wind. The third man and woman fade away without a word, and Myra can feel she’s about to wake up, too._

______ _ _

_She turns to Eddie, and holds his face in her hands._

______ _ _

_“You’re not waking up, are you?” She asks, feeling hot tears in her eyes._

______ _ _

_His arms circle and tighten around her, and he looks down at her sadly, shaking his head. He doesn’t speak, no more breath within his lungs._

______ _ _

_“I’m sorry-”_

______ _ _

_Eddie shuts her up, kissing her gently. Myra understands what he means._

______ _ _

_“I love you. I love you so much.”_

______ _ _

_Eddie holds her hands against his chest, over his heart. She knows what he means by that as well. They share another kiss, and then they hug, tightly. Myra looks at his face until she wakes up._

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

A few days later, there’s a knock on the front door.

______ _ _

“Fuck.” Myra shuffles quickly to the bedroom to find a dressing gown.

______ _ _

It’s mid-afternoon and she’s still in her pyjamas. Not that she cares. Her eyes are red and itchy from all the crying. Not that she cares. Her hair is a mess. Not that she cares. She and her pyjamas definitely smell and she doesn’t care because Eddie is gone and he’s not coming home.

______ _ _

There’s another knock when she rounds the corner to the front door, and she bumps into it for the _umpteenth_ time. Half of Myra is still trying to get used to being back in her body again, with its painful limp, its weight and post-menopausal condition, the latter of which requires daily maintenance with several different creams if she doesn’t want a dry and painful vagina.

______ _ _

She looks through the peephole, and sees an equally messed up man on the other side. He’s wearing Eddie’s jacket.

______ _ _

Perhaps, against her better judgement, Myra opens the door.

______ _ _

“I’m sorry, do I know y– _Richie Tozier_?”

______ _ _

She hasn’t been or watched a show in years, but she knows that this scruffy, exhausted looking man on her doorstep is definitely him. Something’s really put him through the ringer.

______ _ _

“Ah, yeah, that’s… that’s me, I guess,” he says, nervously pushing his glasses back up his nose. He sounds just as exhausted as he looks.

______ _ _

Myra doesn’t know how to deal with this. Her husband just died. Now there’s a crying comedian on her doorstep. She has so many questions. “What are you doing here?”

______ _ _

“I, um,” Richie says, fiddling with the zipper on Eddie’s jacket. “Eddie.”

______ _ _

Myra blinks. “Eddie?”

______ _ _

“Yeah, I…” He looks down at his hands as he stutters. “I was with him…. I-I-I…” He stiffens up, his breath hitching. All but the redness drains from his face. His eyes go glassy, and Myra notices a sheen developing down his face. He cries some more.

______ _ _

“Richie?” Myra reaches out, touching his arm. He seems to come back at the contact, blinking and looking down at her.

______ _ _

“Sorry, I… I for sure have PTSD now, which is really terrific. How am I going to explain this to a therapist? Um, I was there when Eddie,” he swallows, takes a deep breath, “died.” He looks hollow as he says it, and Myra understands the way he’s acting.

______ _ _

“I better make us some tea, then,” she says, opening the door properly.

______ _ _

Richie follows her in, shutting the door behind him. She leads the way through to the kitchen, but then she hears him stop. Myra turns around, looking around the living room like it’s haunted.

______ _ _

“This… this looks a lot like the house Eddie grew up in,” Richie says, sounding just as plagued. He shoves his hands into Eddie’s pockets, looking down before following Myra into the kitchen. “I’m just, kind of expecting thirteen-year-old Eddie to tiptoe around the corner.”

______ _ _

Myra looks around as well, seeing just how different her apartment has become. None of the furniture, knick-knacks, décor, _nothing_ about this space is her or Eddie. She hates all of it, and has to leave before she gives into the desire to smash something.

______ _ _

Richie sits on a chair at the bench, watching Myra putter around the kitchen. Whenever she opens a lower cupboard door it smacks into her belly, and feels like cursing every time it happens. On the third time, she does.

______ _ _

“ _FUCK!_ ”

______ _ _

Richie flinches every time she slaps something down. The box of teabags and the mugs on the counter. The kettle on the stove. The teabags into the mugs. After the water boils she sensibly puts the hot mugs down in front of Richie and herself.

______ _ _

Richie takes a tentative sip of his tea. “This is nice,” he says.

______ _ _

“Let’s not small talk. Just tell me what happened. Everything. How do you know Eddie? Why were you with Eddie? Why are you here now?” She doesn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but Myra just wants to get to the point..

______ _ _

“I’m sorry. I, um, don’t know how to have this conversation. Like, where the hell do I even start? How much can I tell you without you thinking I’m crazy? The past two days have been so fucking insane that I’m surprised that I’m still standing. I don’t think I should be standing, honestly.”

______ _ _

Myra sees how hard he’s holding onto his hot mug, and she reaches over, makes him let go of it. The skin on his hands is red. “With what’s happened to me, I think I can believe anything you say.”

______ _ _

“Oh, uh, well… Eddie _died_ ,” Richie has to pause at the word, “He _died_ helping to save the world? That’s a weird fucking sentence to say, but I swear that’s what really happened.”

______ _ _

Myra feels her eyes widen. “Okay, what?”

______ _ _

“Oh, right, yeah, there’s a whole backstory that leads up to that. My head is kind of a jumble at the moment, I’m still piecing everything together.”

______ _ _

“Eddie is a… Eddie was a risk analyst. What the hell could he have been doing? Why the hell was he doing it with _you_ , Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier?”

______ _ _

“I’ll start from the start then,” Richie says.

______ _ _

“Please do.”

______ _ _

Richie nods, Myra seeing him gathering up his thoughts. “Okay, so I learned some of this while I was high on this crazy Native American drug, but I promise this is all legit.”

______ _ _

Myra rolls his eyes, but doesn’t interrupt him.

______ _ _

“So, like, about four million years ago, this interdimensional clown alien crash landed in Derry, Maine. And then three million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and seventy-three years later-”

______ _ _

“So, twenty-seven years ago, then?” Myra asks, eyebrows raised.

______ _ _

“Yes, twenty-seven years ago, that’s when Eddie and I and our five best friends were growing up…”

______ _ _

Richie tells her everything.

______ _ _

He tells her what Mike told him about It. He tells her about what It did to Derry. He tells her about the Losers, how they came together and how they all defeated It the first time. He tells her about the amnesia they all, except Mike, had when they left Derry. He tells her (most) of what happened when he met Eddie again all those times. He tells her that he was in love with Eddie, and tells her about the tokens. He tells her about the fight, and how Eddie died.

______ _ _

He told her how, after, they all jumped into the quarry, and he cried on the rock in the middle of it, unable to see or feel anything other than grief. He tells her how sorry he is for not being able to go back down there to get Eddie back.

______ _ _

Myra listens to everything Richie says, pays attention to every single word. It takes a while, and their tea grows cold in the meantime, long forgotten. But she listens, and she believes him.

______ _ _

“You know, as scared as Eddie was – as scared as _I_ used to make him – fighting and helping kill an evil interdimensional being is exactly the kind of thing he would do,” Myra says, when Richie finally gets to the end. “You really loved him, huh?”

______ _ _

Richie nods. “Yeah, I did. Well, still do, really. With everything coming back, I can’t help but feel like the feelings are happening all over again.”

______ _ _

“And Eddie loved you?” Myra’s already thinking about their entire relationship, but she isn’t able to come up with any moment that refutes what they had. 

______ _ _

Then, like a bubble rising from the deep, a memory pops into her head, and Myra wonders how she could ever forget that Eddie had told her on their _very first date_ that he was bi. That was something he wasn’t ashamed about, and that wasn’t something that worried her. But it was still something It had thought to make her forget, something to change her mind about.

______ _ _

“I think he was, before leaving Derry. He fell in with you, too, though. Before we left the bar that night, I saw how he looked at you.”

______ _ _

“But he went home with _you_ ,” Myra counters.

______ _ _

“Yeah, he did, but I don’t think that should take anything away from what you two had at all. I was an easy one night stand. What he wanted to have with you was so much more than that. I think he was scared after Daniel died, with how they never really got an ending.”

______ _ _

Their tea has long since gone cold, but they both take a sip anyway.

______ _ _

“I really loved him,” Myra says eventually. She can feel how shaky her voice is. “And I know he loved me. Kind of proved that, after I changed. He stayed with me, even as I made his life what must have been a living hell. We weren’t- we hadn’t been happy for a while. I don’t think either of us realised that wasn’t what marriage was supposed to be.”

______ _ _

Richie reaches out a hand to try and comfort her as the tears begin to well up, but Myra pushes it away, gently. It’s not what she needs right now.

______ _ _

Myra tells him about what happened to her in Derry. She tells him about the coffin, and how the clown pushed her in. She tells him that she didn’t even know she was in it outside of her dreams. She tells him about her injury, her ectopic pregnancy, and resulting menopause. She tells him of the haze that she had been for the past three thousand and twenty-seven days.

______ _ _

She tells him how she started to change, how It changed her into Sonia.

______ _ _

She tells him how she heard their fight. How Eddie saved her and those other people when he saved Richie. And she tells him that despite everything, she still loved Eddie, even if It had twisted that love into something unrecognisable to either of them.

______ _ _

“It just… hurts, and I feel guilty, even though I know it was all because of that _thing_. It.” Myra closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath, holding onto her mug of tea like it’s a lifeline.

______ _ _

Richie reaches out again, and she lets him take the mug from her hands so she can hold his instead. They share a sad smile, and then they hug for a while, which is nice. Myra asks him to stay for dinner, and then he ends up sleeping in the seldom used guest room.

______ _ _

In the morning, they’ll ring Richie’s friend Mike, because there’s so much legal stuff that needs to happen and Myra has no idea what to do, but Richie swears that Mike is the smartest guy he knows, and he’ll know what to do.

______ _ _

“You know, I said to Eddie, the night before, that we needed to talk about everything that happened between us. He said we could do that after, but… yeah.”

______ _ _

Somehow, he looks small against the overbearing presence of the couch cushions. Myra reaches out and holds his hands again.

______ _ _

***~.~***

______ _ _

Mike makes the trip down to New York to explain the plan he’s already thought out. Their re-meeting between them is a sad affair. Myra is going to report Eddie as missing, and it’s going to be very quick to the point when the investigation goes cold without Eddie being able to be found. Police will find his luggage, left behind in his motel room, but no Eddie. There’ll be no sightings of Eddie, no hearing from Eddie. 

______ _ _

Then, eventually, after some years will go by, they will finally be able to get a death certificate for him.

______ _ _

It makes Myra feel uneasy, just thinking about all the time that will pass before they can really recognise Eddie’s death, but she certainly can’t think up something better.

______ _ _

It’s a helluva way to meet Eddie’s childhood best friends.

______ _ _


	8. Chapter 8

January, 2017

Richie starts spending a lot more time with Myra over the winter months, and he really loves the friendship they’re developing. On New Year’s Eve, they spend a quiet night in at her place, shitty Christmas movies playing in the background while they drink virgin cocktails and talk their way to midnight.

“I want to move back to New York,” he says eventually, putting a new DVD into the player. “Downsize my career.”

“Yeah?” Myra asks, taking a sip from her drink. She’s looking at him like she genuinely wants to hear what he has to say, and it makes Richie feel a little anxious, since it’s still something he’s getting used to.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking a lot about the last time I was happy, where I was and what I was doing. That was here, in New York with my friends, doing stand-up in bars. I’ve only been doing one of those things lately, but I’m the happiest I’ve been in years.” 

He takes a while to look back at her, but Myra is smiling encouragingly at him, and when he settles back down on the couch, she cuddles into him and he throws an arm around her. It’s nice.

“That sounds like a good plan, Richie. You wanna be roommates?” She asks.

The question comes out of the blue, as he’s taking a sip of his drink, but Richie nods enthusiastically. “Oh, my god, yes!”

“Great! But not here, though. I want to find another place. There are too many ghosts here.” Myra stares forlornly at a picture of her and Eddie, above the TV. She looks down again.

“How many is too many?”

“One.”

At midnight, they have a group call with the other Losers around the country, and they all promise that they’ll celebrate together next year.

***~.~***

For the next few weeks, he and Myra spend their afternoons looking at different apartments, trying to find something that works for both of them. Richie had let his manager go just a few days after New Year’s, so he now has time to do this with her. They walk together, Myra’s cane in one hand and her other looped around Richie’s elbow. It’s a small gesture, unconscious on Richie’s part, but when he first offered it to her, Myra was very taken aback, and she very nearly cried as she explained how Eddie would do the same.

They manage to find something relatively quickly, which is lucky, considering how long it can take to find an apartment in New York City. It’s a ground floor apartment, small, but enough room for the two of them. 

There are a few bars nearby, _Puzzles_ being one of them, so early one afternoon, before the rush, Richie and Myra head in. It takes a moment for Leroy to fully register that Richie is in front of him. It’s a highly emotional and tearful reunion.

“You know, I was angry at you for such a long time, man. You stopped talking to us just a few months after you left.”

“I know, I’m sorry, Leroy-”

“You ignored all our texts and calls when Shannon was sick. We really needed your support man, you were our best fucking friend, and you just left us high and dry. You finally turned up at the funeral after ignoring us for years, and you weren’t even there for fifteen fucking minutes! You turned up _drunk_!”

“I know, I’m really sorry. I was depressed, and... It was the manager-”

“It was you, too, Richie! It was your choice to sign up with him, you know Shannon said she got a bad vibe from him! But you were so fucking blinded by the idea of Hollywood, weren’t you?”

Richie cowers on his chair, nodding pathetically at every word. “I was. I’m so sorry, Leroy.”

Leroy looks pissed off for a few moments more, before letting out a deep sigh. “Truth is, Richie, I forgave you a long while ago. Don’t get me wrong, I was mad for a long, long time. But Shannon told me not to hold on to that. She said she just knew that you’d be back one day, and that I should welcome you with open arms. So.”

Leroy walks around from the bar, and embraces a relieved Richie in a big hug, and they cry into each other’s shoulders for a few good minutes. Myra takes her glass of whiskey and heads off to a table, leaving them to their moment.

“I’m really glad you’re back, Richie. I missed you. You in New York for long?” Leroy asks, wiping at his face after he pulls away.

“Yeah, man, I’m moving back!” Richie says excitedly, wiping at his own. “Just found a place, gonna be roommates with Myra, here.” He gestures towards Myra, roping her into the conversation.

“Hi, I’m Myra,” she says, walking back over and holding out her hand. “I used to be a regular here a few years back.”

“I’m Leroy,” he says with a smile.

Leroy offers Richie a regular night to perform, but Richie declines the offer. “I really need to get some therapy first, dude. I’m already attending AA meetings, but there’s a lot of other shit I need to work through.”

“I get it. I got the number for a good counsellor, she really helped me after Shannon’s death,” Leroy says, taking out his phone.

“Yeah, that’d be great, man!” Richie replies, taking out his own phone so Leroy can put the number in.

“We’ll have to hang out somewhere other than the bar in the meantime, huh?” He says when he’s done. “There’s this great Mexican place a few blocks away, we have to go there!”

“That sounds really good!” Richie says, looking very excited at the prospect.

Myra’s heart just about bursts from her chest as she sees how happy Richie is to have his friend back.

“Needless to say, Rich, it’s a standing invitation for you to come back. Whenever you feel ready, you are more than welcome to perform here. We still have our comedy nights, every Friday and Saturday.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Richie says, and that sets off the tears and the hugging again. “I love you, Leroy.”

“I love you, too, Rich.”

***~.~***

Myra finally finds some work, with an employer who lets her work from home, thank god. She gets the data emailed to her, she types up the reports and sends them back. It’s perfect and she loves it, having not worked for the past few years. She’s finally getting her life back together, and while she still feels grief and sadness, there’s also some form of happiness mixed in there.

***~.~***

June, 2017

Myra’s birthday comes with the news that the investigation into Eddie’s disappearance has run cold. It’s a relief to finally know that the police are stopping, but it also just marks the beginning of an even longer wait for Eddie to be declared legally dead.

“Your birthday is coming up soon, right?” Richie asks as he cooks dinner one night.

“Yes,” Myra says slowly. “Why?”

“Just thinking about what we should do for a party,” he says.

“I haven’t celebrated my birthday in seven years,” Myra tells him, handing off the vegetables she’s chopped.

“Then we definitely have to throw you a party. We haven’t even had a proper housewarming yet! Come on, it’ll be fun! Just us, the Losers, partners and Leroy. Whaddya say?”

Myra thinks about it, and feels some excitement. “Alright, then.”

A few weeks later, before everyone arrives, she sets up a little Eddie corner in the living room, with the picture she took of him in the Jade of the Orient from their trip to Derry, the one where Eddie is doing his walrus impression.

“Oh, my god, _what the fuck_?” Richie manages before his laughter turns to wheezing. “When did you take that? Where are the candles? I’m making a shrine and I’m putting this work of art in the middle.”

It’s the first time Myra will be meeting Audra and Patty in person, and she’s really looking forward to it. They’ve been talking on Facebook for the past few months, along with Bev, and she’s loved getting to know them all. It was a stark moment, looking at pictures of their faces and realising: _they were in the graveyard, too_.

As each person arrives, Myra and Richie enjoy directing their attention to the shrine and seeing them all doubling over in laughter.

Ben and Bev are the first to arrive, bottles of sodas in their hands. They both give Myra and Richie a few kisses on their cheeks each, and hugs tight enough to squeeze all the air out. It’s been a little while since Myra’s seen Beverly, but she has yet to meet Ben in person. His cheeks look a little rounder from the last picture she saw of him and Bev together, but his smile is so wide it’s barely noticeable. They look so happy together.

Audra, Bill and Mike are the next to arrive, the newly announced throuple. It’s a word which Myra certainly thinks sounds nice when said, but is unsure how it works in practice. But she doesn’t ask, since it’s not her place. She knows it makes them happy, and so she will support the heck out of them. 

Mike gives them a few souvenirs from Florida, a pretty sand globe and a cute little palm tree ornament that Richie places right away on their bookshelf. Audra gives Myra a lavender scented candle from a nice boutique she found, which smells absolutely divine, even over the armful of pizza boxes that Bill carries.

Patty and Leroy arrive next. Patty has one hand on her lower back and one patting at her swollen belly, but she still looks like she’s glowing as she waddles in. Leroy is all smiles, too, a few bags of food on each arm from the nearby Mexican place.

“My god, Patty, you look ready to pop!” Myra says as Patty waddles over to the table. Richie jumps up to pull out her seat and give her a hug. “Can’t be long to go now, huh?”

Patty carefully lowers herself into the chair, giving everyone a wave. “I’m just a few days out from thirty-six weeks. Which is lucky for all of you, because that’s the cut-off date for air travel. Also, this chair is where I live now. Everyone can come to me for hugs.”

“Leroy!” Richie says, jumping up to give his best friend a hug once the bags are put on the table. “Guys, this is Leroy! My best friend from college! Leroy, these are my best friends from childhood. That’s Mike, Bill and Audra. Haven’t known Audra since childhood, though. That’s Patty, you met outside, Stan’s wife, alav ha-shalom.” _Peace be upon him._

Leroy makes his way around the room, giving everyone handshakes, settling in and having conversations.

It ends up being a great night. The music and atmosphere is good, as is the food, there’s lots of laughing and cheering, and plenty of groans when people lose their hand at poker. Myra really enjoys herself. Whenever she gets a little sad that Eddie’s not there to enjoy it with her, she just looks over to his shrine and his silly walrus impression and smiles.

There’s a somber moment when Myra quietly asks Beverly how the divorce is going.

“It’s nearly over, thank god. Tom’s been keeping me updated, emailing me on how his therapy and anger management is going. We work alternate days now, so we don’t run into each other at work.”

Myra gives Beverly a reassuring smile as she drains the rest of her glass.

“I'd like to say something,” Richie says, interrupting the reverie. “I think we should take a moment to honour the people who aren’t here now. Eddie, Stan and Shannon: there’s still so much love for all of them here, and I don’t think that any of that will ever go away. I really hope that wherever they are now, they can feel all of it. So, if you’d all raise your glasses,” Richie pauses, as everyone does, “to Eddie, Stan and Shannon!”

“Eddie, Stan and Shannon!” They all repeat, before taking a sip.

“ _Zekher tzadik livrakhah_ ,” Patty says, _may the memory of this righteous one be a blessing_ , before gulping. “Hey guys,” she says, suddenly looking very serious.

Everyone looks at her, the sound of water splashing beneath the table suddenly very loud.

“My water just broke.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, not sure what to do. Patty just rolls her eyes as everyone stares at her, holding out her arms so someone can help pick her up, until-

“Looks like Stan Junior wants in, then, I’ll deal him a hand,” Richie says, breaking the silence.

“She’s a girl, Richie,” Patty corrects, as she’s helped to her feet by Audra and Beverly.

“You don’t know that for certain!” Richie counters, already googling what the closest hospital is.

“Well, until she says otherwise, she’s a girl,” Patty says, then groaning and clutching at her belly.

Aliyah Stanley Myra Uris is born just before midnight and she’s the best birthday present Myra’s ever received.

***~.~***

September, 2017

Patty next comes to New York on a Friday. Richie’s planned a weekend long event to celebrate Eddie’s birthday, and all the Losers are flying in. The Friday afternoon and evening, though, Myra has planned with just the girls. The afternoon starts at Bev’s studio, so they can all fawn over Aliyah before heading to this little French bistro that Audra loves.

Little Aliyah already has her father’s dark, curly hair and eyes, while she has her mother’s nose and mouth. Myra thinks she’s absolutely beautiful. She gets to hold her for a while as she sleeps, Patty telling a story about a bird that Aliyah pointed at (“ _It was an Eastern Bluebird, Audra, they were Stan’s favourites!_ ”), until she wakes up, and Myra hands her back so Aliyah can be fed.

While Audra continues to coo over Aliyah, Bev takes out her latest folio to show Myra.

“These designs are beautiful, Bev,” Myra praises, turning each page in awe.

Beverly smiles. “I’ve been meaning to start a plus-sized line for a while, now. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Ever since Ben decided to gain some weight back, and you saying that you don’t like the clothes that do fit, I just wanted to… make something. I want the people I love to feel good, you know?”

Myra feels some tears spring to her eyes. She still struggles with her weight, though she never really talks about it. And she hasn’t thrown out the ‘L’ word to her new friends yet, but she’s certainly starting to feel it. “I don’t know squat about fashion, but I would really love wearing these clothes, Bev,” she tells her.

The conversation is interrupted when the door is abruptly opened. A man pokes his head through, a black Labrador puppy nosing her way into the room. Myra stares at the man, like she knows Audra and Patty are.

She recognises him.

The other man from the graveyard.

“Tom,” Bev says, sounding surprised.

Tom’s looking between Myra, Audra and Patty, looking scared, recognition in his eyes too. Then he looks down, averting his eyes. He accidentally drops the leash, and the puppy starts smelling her way through the room. There’s a jacket on her back, declaring her a service dog in training.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean – I didn’t know you’d be in this room, I just needed to pick something up. I didn’t even plan on coming in today, I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Beverly interrupts. She picks up the leash as the puppy comes close. “She’s cute.”

“My anger management therapist said that I was doing well, so he suggested I train a service dog…. Well, puppy. She will be a service dog.” There’s an awkward pause as Tom looks between Myra and the other two women again, before he timidly reaches for a folio on the table. “I won’t come in on your day again, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Beverly reiterates. She holds the leash out, and Tom gently takes it from her. “It’s _okay_.”

He looks relieved, and he gives an awkward little wave before he bends down to scoop the puppy up, making a hasty exit.

The moment over, it’s silent within the room. Myra watches as Beverly slowly sits back in her seat, the interaction looking like it drained her. She looks over at Audra and Patty, who both shake their heads: _we won’t talk about this here_.

And then Aliyah gives a little hiccup, and it’s the cutest damn sound in the world, instantly re energising the room.

***~.~***

At dinner later, after a lull in the conversation where Beverly volunteered to change Aliyah, the three women lean in close to discuss what to do about Tom.

“I think we should tell him what we know,” Patty says, sympathetic.

“Why should we tell him shit? You know what he did to Beverly,” Audra hisses.

Patty’s wringing her hands; a nervous habit, Myra assumes, whenever she can’t see Aliyah. “He’s holding himself accountable, isn’t he? He’s getting therapy,” she points out.

“Therapy shmerapy,” Audra scoffs. “That doesn’t have to mean shit.”

“I think he should know,” Myra says, after listening to them argue for a few more moments. “I would want to know. I was just as abusive towards Eddie during our last few years of marriage.”

“It wasn’t really you, Myra, it was-”

“It may have only been half of me awake, but it was still half me doing all those things. And I feel bad about it every day. All I want to do, with every fibre of my being, is to tell Eddie I’m sorry and that I love him. But I can’t. I’m doing my best to atone, and I think Tom is doing that, too. So… I’ll talk to him. You don’t need to worry, Audra.”

Audra sits back, silent. They look at each other, Myra finding it difficult to read her face, but she doesn’t get a chance to try before Beverly’s back, bouncing a happy Aliyah in her arms

“Why the long faces? Did I miss something?”

***~.~***

When Myra gets home that evening, she sees Richie snoring on the couch in what looks to be a very uncomfortable position. She gently shakes him awake, because she knows that’s going to lead to something sore in the morning.

While she’s doing some internet sleuthing to find Tom’s email on her laptop in bed, Richie knocks at the door, a hot cup of tea in his hands.

“Thanks, Richie,” she says, a smile on her face.

“No problemo,” he says, setting it down on the bedside table. He leans down, giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head. “Goodnight, My.”

“Goodnight, Richie.”

Myra finds Tom’s email address. She takes a while typing, she wants to make sure she writes down everything she knows. About It. About the graveyard. What It did to her. How It had probably done that to him.

Then she asks him not to reply. 

It’s cruel, Myra realises, to give someone so much information and an explanation without support to process it. But she just... doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t have the emotional energy to do so.

***~.~***

2018

Myra misses Eddie every day, but it’s starting to get easier.

***~.~***

2019

“That’s the fourth time you’ve blown him off!” Myra says as they walk home from _Puzzles_. “He really likes you, Rich, you can’t keep doing that to him.”

“I know, I know! I’m just nervous, okay? You know I’ve never really dated before, I don’t know what the fuck to do.” Richie shivers against the cold, having given his scarf to Myra, but he doesn’t complain. They’re only a block away from their apartment.

“Just do what we or you and Leroy do, you know, hang out, but in a restaurant. A nice restaurant, not somewhere loud. You know, intimate. Ask him questions, get to know him,” Myra suggests.

“Just hang out? Alright, I can do that. I like doing that. So, next week I’ll ask Tyler if he wants to hang out-”

“Don’t say hang out, then he’ll just think you want to be friends. Ask him if he wants to go on a date,” Myra corrects him.

“Gotcha,” Richie says, opening the building door open for her. “God, what if he doesn’t want to, though? I’ll look like an idiot in front of everyone at the bar.”

Myra really wants to slap the stupidity out of him. She settles for shoving the key into their apartment door.

“Honey, I’ve been sitting beside him for the past four weeks. Not only does he look at you like you’re incredibly dreamy – which you _are_ , Richie, don’t you dare say you’re not – and he laughs louder than anyone else in the place, he talks about you like he’s got a crush. _Because he does, Richie_. And then he always makes a beeline for you when you’re at the bar afterwards.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Richie says, smiling. He helps Myra with her coat, hanging it on a hook. “Next week, if he’s there, I’ll ask him out.”

“Great. Don’t fuck it up, Richie,” Myra says, yawning.

“I’ll try my best, Myra,” Richie rolls his eyes.

“You want some tea?” Myra asks, heading to the kitchen.

“Yes please.” Richie follows her, then comes to a stop in the living room. He looks at a picture of Eddie, the one of his walrus impersonation, smiling. “I guess I have a type, huh.”

“Hm?”

“My type. Shorter than me. Brown hair, big brown eyes. Full of sass. I hope he’s not a hypochondriac, I don’t want him to be _too _much like Eddie. That’d be weird, right?”__

Myra hands Richie his mug of tea, then sips at her own, and doesn’t tell him about the copious hand sanitiser she’s seen Tyler use.

***~.~***

Once the last performer has left to a great applause, Richie comes bounding back onto the stage. He adjusts the microphone as he waits for it to die down, smiling at the crowd. 

“Hey guys, I just wanted to thank you all for making my first few weeks back here really great. I haven’t performed here in over a decade, and it’s been really nice seeing some old faces. And new ones, of course.Thanks to all our comedians who came up tonight, a big round of applause to all of them! Shout out especially to Jessie! It’s been a while since I last saw him and he’s just gotten so much better with being on stage! I’m really glad the transition went well, my dude! You look so damn handsome!”

Richie sees Tyler’s face in the crowd, smiling brightly at him where he’s sitting next to Myra. He looks down, face already heating up, but he plows through the last of his set.

“So I just wanted to end the night with a funny little anecdote for you all. I recently moved back to New York after a horrendous decade. I won’t go into details, I don’t want to bum you guys out after such a great evening. Let’s just say it wasn’t good, but things are getting better. It all ended when someone I loved, uh, passed away. And then I kinda moved in with his grieving widow.” 

There’s some shocked laughter from the crowd as he scratches at his head. Richie would be laughing at that, too. It really was a helluva situation to find himself in. He doesn’t regret a second of it, though.

“Now: it’s not what you think guys. I swear! There’s a whole backstory that I also won’t go into. But the main point is, is that we both loved this guy, and after he passed, we kinda just leaned on each other. For support, ya know? It’s been good to go through that grieving process together. We both kinda know what the other went through, so it’s been good to not go through that alone. And over the years, I’m proud to say she’s become one of my best friends, and I really love her. I haven’t told her as such yet, so no doubt she’s tearing up right now! I really mean it, Myra. You’re officially one of the Losers.”

An ‘aw’ from the crowd. Richie can just about see Myra wiping some tears from her face, and Tyler rubs a hand on her shoulder. Happy tears, he hopes. He really does love her with all his heart, despite his trouble with saying that kind of stuff out loud.

“Being a Loser isn’t a bad thing, just so you guys know. It’s what my best friends and I called ourselves growing up. The Losers Club. So after we moved in together, I took some time off from everything. You never really realise how seriously you need to take your mental health until you need to take it seriously. Got some counselling, I’m nearly two and a half years sober!” A big cheer for that as Richie pulls out his chip. He thinks Tyler might be the loudest of all. “I slowly figured out where I wanted to go in terms of my career. I knew for sure that I didn’t want to go back to being on such a big stage, I didn’t want to keep touring.

“Just before I moved in with Myra I told her that I wanted to downsize, but I needed to figure out what I meant by that, ya know? That took me a little while, but it was something I needed to do, because I soon realised that right here, on this particular stage, in this particular bar, in front of this particular audience - that’s where I wanted to be. So, yeah. I’m still gonna be here when I’m ninety. You’re gonna have to roll me up here in a wheelchair, because this is what I want to be doing until the day I die!”

There’s another ‘aw’, and lots of cheering. You can’t wipe the smile of Richie’s face for nothing.

“So now I’ve tugged on your heart strings sufficiently, let me finish up the night with that anecdote I promised. Most of you guys won’t know this, but it can take a while to come up with jokes and a whole set. And then when you finally write something, you gotta practice and rehearse it. Gotta get the....” Richie takes a deliberately long pause, counting to five in his head, makes a few funny faces, getting the crowd laughing, before finally “...timing right. You see what I mean?

“One part of stand-up I’m really looking forward to getting back into is my impressions. My first manager forbade them, and then quickly after that got someone else to write the jokes. So I’m a little out of practice. I’ve been doing voices since I was a kid, and started doing impressions in college. I can do your standard Di Niro, see?” He says, putting on the voice and contorting his face. “I have the weirdest timing with voices. Like, I remember one time I was getting it on with a guy,” Richie clears his throat, preparing the next voice, “and a little Al Pacino slipped out. He did _not_ like it. Yeah, it kind of killed the mood.”

He shrugs abashedly at the memory, the roaring of the laughter rushing over him. Richie really fucking missed this.

“Ooh, I gotta tell you guys about this one time that I just couldn’t believe my luck at scoring with this really hot guy. Like, you guys are looking at me, right? I know I seem all cool and confident, but the reality is I am an anxious wreck who can only act like I’m confident. Like I’m all gangly limbs and got a little pudge right here, I still have no idea how to properly take care of my hair so it’s always a little greasy and a little fluffy. Anyways, this guy comes home with me, and we start to… ya know. And I just can’t get over the fact that this super hot guy wants to ya know with me, that I’m just thinking: surely, he’s made a mistake. We are at two different levels of attractiveness here.

“So, to remind him about the kind of nerd that he’s gone home with, and to make sure he’s truly happy and understanding of the decision he’s made... I start singing the Space Jam theme song. I’m not just talking the lyrics here. I’m humming the instrumental bit at the beginning, I start doing this weird dance with my shoulders like this,” Richie demonstrates to great effect. “But then he starts singing along, too! Turns out we were both big ol’ nerds with crushes on X-Men. He liked Jean Grey and Nightcrawler. I still really like Sunspot and Rictor. There’s definitely no pattern there or anything."

He makes deliberate eye contact with Tyler, giving him a wink. It sends his heart racing to do something so bold in front of so many people, but he thinks it goes down well with Tyler, who puts one hand over his chest and one on his forehead, pretending to faint. Richie giggles right there on stage.

“So yeah, it’s been good to get back into writing my own stuff. It’s been difficult, writing really feels like using a muscle. Eventually it becomes easier, the more you use that muscle. Or so I’ve heard. What I do come up with, I practice in front of Myra. She was one of the OGs, before I sold out to Hollywood. I know I’m in the right direction whenever I make her laugh. So I get to the part with my Al Pacino impression, and she very casually says: I’ve got an impression I can do, too. I’m not sure what to expect, but I kid you not, it was _the most accurate_ Drew Barrymore impression I’ve ever seen. It genuinely shocked me so much, like I’d just taken a sip of tea and I spat it back out again because I started laughing so hard.”

It’s not getting the biggest reaction, even though Richie has dissolved into giggles at the memory, but that’s okay. He doesn’t feel bad about it landing a little flat.

“I guess it was a moment that you had to be there for. Maybe one night I can convince Myra to join me on stage to show off her impression. Alrighty, that’s all I got for you guys tonight. Okay, make sure to try the nachos before the kitchen closes, everybody! See you next week!"

Richie fixes the microphone back onto the stand, giving everyone a wave before jumping off the small stage. He makes his way over to Myra’s table, where she’s still dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

“Richie Tozier, do not embarrass me like that again, my gosh,” she says. “But that was really good! I know Tyler loved it.”

Richie looks around for him. “Yeah, where did he go?”

“He’s at the bar,” Myra tells him, taking a sip from her glass.

Richie makes his way over, and sees the back of Tyler’s familiar pink sweater leaning against the bar. Richie feels a lot of nervousness as he sidles up next to him, the scene very reminiscent of the last time he was here with Eddie.

“Hey,” he says, getting Tyler’s attention.

“Hey yourself,” Tyler replies, a twinkle in his eye. “You did really good up there tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tyler says, his voice very reassuring. He rubs his shoulder up against Richie’s, and Richie’s pulse jumps. “I don’t mind a bit of Al Pacino every now and then.”

Richie giggles at that. “Are you sure about that?"

“Very sure,” Tyler says, winking. He puts a hand over Richie’s, a very casual move that definitely doesn’t make Richie’s heart jump.

“What are you drinking? My shout,” Richie asks, cringing at how much his voice shakes.

For the next ten minutes, everything goes okay. The conversation is casual, Tyler’s telling him about the time he accidentally said he was a _depository_ rather than a _repository_ of information during a job interview, which is very funny and cute and just makes Richie want to reach out and kiss him all the more.

But then he’s fucking it up, the anxiety way too much, and he’s telling Tyler that he has to help Myra home. And then he’s zooming away, leaving a confused Tyler at the bar.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Myra hisses at him once he’s close enough. “You’re fucking it up!”

“I freaked out! He’s way too hot and out of my league. Come on, I told him I had to help you home.” Richie hands Myra her cane, and she sighs, downing the rest of her drink.

But she doesn’t head to the door, though. She grabs Richie by her free hand and drags him back to Tyler. Richie tries to wrestle his arm free, but Myra has a surprisingly strong grip, and she keeps hold as she taps on Tyler’s shoulder.

“Tyler, Richie likes you, but he’s too scared to ask you out.”

Then she lets go of his hand, disappearing somewhere as Richie feels his heart beat wildly in fear, a blush overcoming his entire face. He makes to leave, but Tyler grabs hold of his hand, in a gentle but firm grip that has warmth radiating through his entire body.

“Ask me out, Richie,” Tyler tells him, smirk planted firmly on his face.

“You wanna… go out sometime, Tyler?” Richie can feel how shaky his voice is, he’s so nervous.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tyler says, like he’s been waiting to say it for a while, hands reaching up his face.

The image is so familiar, and Richie realises why: it was Tyler he saw past the Deadlights, _this moment_. Tyler’s soft hands make contact with his stubbly cheek, pulling him down gently for a kiss. It’s the first one Richie’s had in awhile, and he’s a little rusty, but Tyler still smiles at him when he pulls away. Richie just has to dive back in, hands going to Tyler’s waist and pulling him closer.

They exchange numbers and plan to meet on the following Thursday, and Richie practically floats onto the stool beside Myra after Tyler leaves. Leroy pours them both another drink.

“Finally,” Leroy says. “You deserve it, Rich.”

“Thanks, man,” Richie says, clinking his glass against Myra’s.

***~.~***

2020 

As it nears the end of the year, the fourth anniversary of their roommate-ship drawing nearer, Myra knows it’s coming to an end, even if Richie still refuses to acknowledge it.

They needed their friendship to grieve and heal after Eddie’s death, and while Myra is damn certain they’re going to be friends for the rest of their lives, it’s also a time for change. Richie and Tyler have been dating for almost eighteen months now, and it’s time for them to take the next step and move in together.

Richie drags out the realisation for weeks, and Myra knows it’s because he’s worried about her, as well as their living situation being comfortable and safe. But she knows things are going to be so much better for him once he’s living with Tyler.

Tyler is kind, and funny, and patient with every little hurdle Richie needs to get over in his own head, and a quick wit that’s a good match to Richie’s. When Richie inevitably told him everything about what happened with Pennywise, because Richie never wanted to lie to Tyler, he believed him.

Myra knows they’re going to be very happy together, if she can just drill it into Richie’s head that she’s going to be fine without him.

***~.~***

September, 2021

Five years after reporting Eddie missing, Myra gets the call saying he’ll officially be declared dead. When the call is ended, with the news that she can come pick up a death certificate in a few weeks, she feels numb.

She feels like she’s in a haze as she calls Richie.

“Myra? What’s wrong?”

“I just got the call from the police. Can you come over?”

“Of course, yeah. I’ll be right over.”

Just like five years ago, they sit together and drink tea, and she tells him what she was told. They hold hands, then they hug and cry.

“You know, I always had that little bit of fools' hope that Eddie was still alive, that one day he would just walk in the door. I do trust you, and all the other Losers, when you say that he’s gone. Logically I know he’s not coming back, but hope doesn’t care about logic.”

Richie squeezes her hands. “I get it. Your husband disappears with barely a word, and then less than seventy-two hours later, you get a call from some guy claiming to be one of his childhood best friends, saying that he’s died. That was an incredible leap of faith you had to take to trust us.”

Myra dabs at her face with a tissue. The death certificate is the final, last bit that she needed to really know that Eddie isn’t coming back. Myra can put Eddie’s piece of her heart to rest. She can actually move on.

Richie gently squeezes her hand again, and she feels something cold and metallic against her skin. She looks down, finally noticing the brand-new ring that sits on Richie’s finger.

“Oh, my god,” Myra gasps. “ _Oh, my god!_ ”

“Yeah!” Richie says, smiles popping up on both their faces. “Yeah, Tyler proposed like, an hour before you called.”

Myra hugs him, and they’re both crying again. She gives him a final squeeze, then lets him go, looking at him like he’s a madman.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here with me and not your _fiancé_ right now?” She’s pulling and dragging him towards the door.

“I wouldn’t just leave you hanging like that, Myra. You’re one of my bestest friends, and I love you.” They hug again, for a good long minute, and then Myra does shove him out the door.

“I love you, too, Richie. Now get the fuck back to your fiancé! And give him my love, too.”

Myra sends Richie on his way, and then closes the door gently behind him. She sits down on the couch, smiles up at Eddie and his damn cute impression of a walrus, and finally feels at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys. That's it. I thank every single one of you for taking a chance on reading this story! I spent so many months on it, and I'm so incredibly proud of it, I loved writing every single word. I've looked forward to posting every single week, and I'm genuinely a little sad that I won't be any more. 
> 
> I'm at Uni until October, so I don't plan on writing anything more for the fandom until then.
> 
> Thank you to [Wisper](https://allhailthedramallama.tumblr.com/) for betaing, as well as to [ThoughtfullyYoungDuck](https://thoughtfullyyoungduck.tumblr.com/) for betaing the last few bits of this chapter because I didn't want to stop writing for it just yet.
> 
> And thank you so much, of course, to [Soph](https://sarcasticscribbles.tumblr.com/) for creating the beautiful artwork that accompanied this fic.
> 
> I loved writing for the Reddie BigBang, so make sure to check out the other works in the collection.
> 
> [Tyler.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vsw1SU3WKDk&t)


End file.
